The Temple Twins
by RHGroeninga
Summary: "The gaiaphage was dead. The FAYZ was gone. They were supposed to be free. Only, they weren't. They were far from free..." Sam and Caine have been placed in the completely secluded 'Dorothy Hills International Institution for Unbalanced and Traumatized Youth'. What happens when they get their powers back? Direction of story is set.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The gaiaphage was dead. The FAYZ was gone. They were supposed to be free. Only, they weren't. They were far from free.

It wasn't that Sam and Caine shared a cell in prison, but they shared a room in _Dorothy Hills International Institution for Unbalanced and Traumatized Youth_. Which essentially was a prison: it wasn't allowed to cross the six feet tall fences at any time and contact with anyone outside the school was out of the question.

Their restraint was part of a compromise, between on one side the people who saw the Perdido survivors, as they were now known, as children of Satan himself, and on the other side the ones who thought they should be cleared of all charges since they were merely victims of the circumstances.

Hence, everyone was acquitted from any sentence, except the people who had committed acts of grievous bodily harm or murder… like Sam and Caine. As a resolution, they were sent to Dorothy Hills, to _cure_ them against the _bad influences_ of the FAYZ.

So there they were, in a secluded institution in the middle of one of the most desolated forests in America, without any access to communication with the outside world and_ no way to get out_. But they had each other. And that would soon prove enough…

* * *

**I'll try to stay close to the original characters as I think they would be after the FAYZ, but I'll ignore who's died and who's still alive in the book, to prevent spoilers and give myself a little more artistic freedom. Furthermore, I need a lot students and teachers for this INTERNATIONAL school. What are they like? Where they from? What special powers/abilities do they have? Any ideas are welcome (although I can't guarantee I'll use them, some may disrupt in the story). So please review!**


	2. Chapter 1: The first two hours

They were standing in the front of the class while the students, or MIPs – according to the DH policy all students were Most Important Persons, and should be treated as such – entered the classroom. They were all searched thoroughly at the entrance of the room for weapons or phones, although neither of the twins could guess how they should be able to get hold of weapons in DH.

When everyone had taken their usual seat and a muscular, imposing guard had taken his position in a corner, Professor Tugen locked the door and went to front of her class.

"Good morning children."

"Good morning Miss Tugen." Spoke the class in a bored unison. The brothers shared a look.

"Today we're going to meet two new MIPs in our class. Give a warm, nice, Dorothy Hills welcome to our new special guests: Sam and Caine Temple!"

Twenty-two mounds stayed shut. Forty-four eyes gazed at them. One person Sam vaguely recognized.

Lance.

Of course. All people who had committed grievous bodily harm or murder, freaks or not.

And Lance had, with some friends who were now surely also somewhere in this building, tried to hang Hunter, beating him so badly in the process he had gotten permanent brain damage. That would fall under grievous bodily harm, no doubt.

He hoped the Human Crew had been dissolved now they didn't have their powers anymore.

"They come from Perdido Beach, where, unfortunately, they went astray due to the pressures of the anomaly and couldn't restrain their inner beast anymore." She sent them a pitying look over her shoulder.

Caine's inner beast. That must be good, old Darkness. Funny, Sam had thought Caine had learned to restrain it by now. Now it's dead… "But that's all right! We all have an inner beast, deep inside ourselves, and we will help you control the beast again! That's important, for all you Perdido survivors: don't let the beast control you, but control the beast!"

Caine was getting to loath Miss Tugen more with each word. Yeah, sure, that had been the problem. The beast. Just control the beast and everything will be fine again.

No. It will never be fine again. They will carry the memories for the miserable remains of their lives. People had died. She couldn't just wipe that away. People had died by his hand!

"But I'm sure you two will overcome those flaws over time, you seem like two strong, willful people to me. Oh, I'm so stupid, I nearly forgot to tell the class you are twins! We haven't had the honor to welcome twins in Dorothy Hills since '48! Well, I'm itching to make a new start with you, aren't we all?"

The class mumbled an unenthusiastic response before Sam and Caine were allowed to take a seat. Each pair of eyes followed them closely as they walked forward, like they were some kind of rare, dangerous species. Sam only just intercepted Lance's furious glare before he sat down.

The lesson that followed, maths, was mostly filled with speeches of Miss Tugen on how good people they all were, and how well they would fit in society if they controlled their inner beast, saw how well the modern American society took care of its people (huh-huh), opened their eyes for the _real_ world, etcetera, etcetera…

"Sam. That kid that's looking at us, who's that? Wasn't he with the Human Crew?" Sam glanced behind him. Lance was still trying to stare them to death.

"Yes, you're right. His name is Lance."

"I hadn't thought of them when they said 'murderers', but in second thought... It does make sense."

After a moment Caine started whispering again.

"How many are actually still alive of the Human Crew?"

"I know Zil is still around, but I'm not sure about the rest. They kept a lower profile once they realized they couldn't really do anything." Caine nodded in thought.

A minute later a ball of crumpled paper fell on Sam's head. He picked it up and unfolded it.

_AMAM_

_(All Moofs Are Murderers)_

Caine took a look at the paper. "Give it me for a sec."

He grabbed it out of Sam's hands, scribbled something down and showed it to him.

_AMAM_

_(All Moofs Are Murders)_

_True. And we're gonna murder you._

"Caine, you can't just threat someone with murder."

"Nonsense, this is just the way to handle this. Believe me, I've got experience." He turned around and quickly threw the paper back to Lance. He read it, looked shocked at first, then started writing furiously.

_AMAM_

_(All Moofs Are Murderers)_

_True. And we're gonna murder you._

_With what powers? Do you really think I'm stupid enough to believe they would let you live if you still had your powers?_

Caine's reply was straight to the point: _Yes. If I don't have any powers I'm not a moof. Moron._

The piece of paper wasn't thrown back.

When the lesson had come to an end and everyone stood up from their seats to be led to the next classroom, English, a sudden upheaval arose from the back of the room. A small group of students held Lance down against his table while one fierce looking girl was yelling at him.

"You won't fool me, evil sorcerer. God will protect me from all your sinful words…"

"Please, stop! They're the sorcerers, not me. I'm normal, I swear! I can't do anything!"

Then the guard interfered quickly and forced them of Lance's back. As the commotion died out, Lance and the girl both sent some glances Sam's way, who got the uneasy feeling this had somehow something to do with _him_. He didn't look forward to find out.

When they arrived in the English class Sam dragged Caine directly as far as possible in the back, away from the girl who had attacked Lance. Caine sat down without noticing, or without giving any remarks at least.

Apart from some whispers and sideway glances, no one seemed to be very interested in them anymore, and Sam furiously hoped they would leave them. Those hopes were relentlessly crushed when a tall blond boy and a much smaller, dark haired one saw them, and took the table right in front of them. They wanted something of them, that was for sure. Only the question was: _What_?

"So. You're the new guys, Sam Temple and Caine Soren, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's Caine Temple now." Sam shivered from the venom in Caine's voice, but he couldn't blame him. The previous lesson must have been awful for Caine's ego, as even Sam felt belittled by Miss Tugen's demeanor to them. Like he was some retarded child. While he had risked his life, several times, saving the butts of others. He was a hero, for heaven's sake!

"Oh, yes, of course." The tall guy, the one who was speaking, had a strong, foreign accent Sam didn't recognize. He pronounced everything in a weird, open, too clear way and his voice seemed strangely higher pitched, but he didn't have a high voice.

"Anyway, I wanted to warn you for some people in this school." Caine frowned his brows while Sam was thinking the same thing: Was this a threat? "People have seen you on TV, they don't like you. They... uhm..."

The bald English teacher locked the door. "Well, anyway, the don't like you. Stay away from them." He quickly spun around to respond to the "Good morning" of Mister Alostum.

But Caine wouldn't leave it at that. As soon as Mister Alostum had started his lesson he began hissing to the boy. "What do you mean, 'Stay away from them.'!? Who do you think you are, we ruled the FAYZ! We certainly can handle you and your little friend not liking us!"

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no! I don't have a problem with you. I like you! I was talking about Cathy and Bastian and their gangs!"

"What's with them?" "Cathy is very religious, you know, she thinks the FAYZ was a punishment from God because you're sinners or you have made a pact with the devil or something like that. She has been on Lance the past months. Bullying him, I mean. But also other people from other classes. Bastian is one of the leaders of the neo-Nazis on this school. Really scary. Hates Perdido people too. Many others are or scared of you or scared of the gangs, so they won't help you. So..."

"It is true," confirmed the small guy, who had a clear Italian accent, "they don't like the people from Perdido beach. My name is Marco di Parcella, by the way, I'm from Italy. His name is Yourian Elbering. He's from Holland."

"Oh, sorry. I totally forgot to introduce myself. Yes, I'm Jurrian Helbering indeed. I come from Deventer, a town in Overijsel, middle-east Netherlands. Nice to meet you."

Caine awkwardly shook the hand of the friendly smiling Dutchman. "Your name is yuh-ree-ahn?" "Yeah, that's about it."

"Mister Helbering, would you please stop distracting the new students!?"

"Of course." he answered coolly. It was obvious he didn't particularly like the bald teacher.

"You haven't paid much attention the last few minutes, Mister Helbering, I wonder why? You're years behind the others! Don't you understand that, in order to rehabilitate, you must speak at least acceptable English!?"

"That depends on it." "That depends on what!?"

"On several things, actually. There are several problems with your... argumentation, is that the right word? At first, for example-" "You say FIRST for example!" "AT first, for example, I dubt-" "Doubt!" "-whether I need to reha_bi-li-ate_. Actually, I did perfectly fine, before I came here. Okay, I _had_ a certain lack of interest in school, but I had many good friends, no problems with my family, a good relationship with my boss and colleagues, I think I do _fine_ in the outside world. Secondly, I dubt, I mean doubt, that I need to speak English AT ALL to go back, TO THE NETHERLANDS! This is an INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL, no IMMIGRATION CENTRE! For god's sake... I mean: GODVERDOMME!"

Sam saw Mister Alostum was fuming. "Listen, young man, you can count yourself lucky to be in this school." Jurrian huffed. "If it wasn't for us and for your nice parents, you would be rotting away in a prison now, and it would be all your fault. Be grateful you get a chance here to better yourself and leave this place with a graduation, see this as an opportunity! You are now in _this_ school, and for _this_ school you need a certain level of English to graduate, and since your English is currently of the level of a five-year-old, pay attention!" Mister Alostum whipped around and stepped to the board, continuing his lessons.

"And you're telling us how to behave at this school." Caine sneered.

"I barely spoke any English when I arrived, he shouldn't complain. He just doesn't like me because he can't pronounce my name, but I can't pronounce his, so we're quite."

"But he _can_ give you detention." were Marco's wise words.

"Yeah, you're right." Jurrian sighed. "Can you come to the canteen otherwise? In the break after this lesson. Then we can talk further, okay? You see, right now mister Alostum looks at me like he's going to eat me for lunch, so I better shut up." He responded said mad teacher's look with a quasi-well-meaning smile.

"Would you be so kind to open your book on page 142 now, Mister Helbering?"

"With pleasure, Mister Alostum!"

So the remaining minutes Jurrian spent attending the lesson, despite Caine's continuous attempts to get him talking again: he considered it not worth the trouble. For now, Caine had to wait till the break.


	3. Chapter 2: Newsflash

A few months later…

_**CRAIG AND MARY BOYLE INVESTIGATE DISAPPEARANCES AT D.H.**_

_In the night between June 8th and June 9th 2011, Susan Donte and Lee Young disappeared without a trace at _Dorothy Hills International Institution for Unbalanced and Traumatized Youth_. Now the much celebrated, Irish detective couple have decided to interfere in the case._

_Mrs. Donte, 54 years old, lived and taught History at the institution, established for youth unfit for society because of their disconnection or strange views of the outside world. Mrs. Donte usually spent the nights at the school, as is common for the teachers of DH, and only came home for the weekends._

_Mr. Young, 28, was functioning at DH as the regular night security guard. On the moment of vanishing, the CCTV had been turned off for yet unknown reasons._

_So far, the police hasn't found any trace of the two victims in or around the building. It is like the two have literally vanished from the face of the earth._

_Mr. and Mrs. Boyle, well-known of the notorious _Jester Case _of 2006, hope to finally bring a solution to this disreputable tragedy. They will fly over to the US today so they can start their investigation next Tuesday. They expect to be able to finish in three months. We, of the _Los Angeles Times _will follow the investigation closely and keep you informed of all the process that will be made._

Connie laid the paper down. Susan Donte. Lee Young. Disappeared without a trace at Dorothy Hills. Dorothy Hills! Sam, Caine! Please let them be safe. Let them stay away from this! Let this not have anything to do with the FAYZ, please!

She stood up abruptly and walked to the window. As she saw some other parent play with their children outside, she didn't feel anything, she could only think about Dorothy Hills, her children, Susan Donte, Lee Young… But why? Why did this have to happen now, there? Why, of all places, did these mysterious disappearances have to happen at Dorothy Hills!?

Diana came in and saw Connie, who had given her a home when her parents refused to take her back again, looking with wide, bewildered eyes at a newspaper on the couch. An uneasy feeling crept up her windpipe and tightened her throat.

"What's in it?"

Except for her mouth, Connie stood perfectly still. "Two people have disappeared at Dorothy Hills."

Diana glanced at the newspaper, as if it was something dangerous. She wanted to know, but yet, she didn't.

"Have Caine and Sam something to do with it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that would suggest that."

But she knew what Connie was thinking. That didn't mean they wouldn't be blamed. It was too coincidental. Two mysterious disappearances on the place where the most hated and the most powerful people of the FAYZ where locked up. Even when they would find the culprit, people would still be suspicious.

"The case is now being examined by some famous detective couple."

Diana stood beside her and held her hand. "They will find prove Sam and Caine have nothing to do with this."

Astrid entered the room.


	4. Chapter 3: During the break

**I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written. It actually took 20 times longer to write than the actual break took! But well, I've finished it and I'm proud of it so enjoy! :)**

**(For the people who didn't notice: this happens just after chapter 2.)**

* * *

As soon as the students left the classroom, Caine confronted Jurrian.

"Alright, I want to know anything you know of this place, and of you." he said, narrowing his eyes.

"Hey, no need to be aggressive! I came to you, remember? Calm down –"

"Why did you approach us in the first place?"

Sam quickly came to Caine's side. He could only hope Caine wouldn't spoil their only chance of comradeship in the school.

"Because I'm a nice guy and…uh… Well, you are here because of what you did –had to do– in the FAYZ, but the FAYZ wasn't your fault, you know, so I think I should do my best to help you with the gangs…"

"How did you plan to '_help_' us?"

"By warning you and trying to befriend you. People usually don't bother me: I'm white, non-religious, not part of any minority, I'm not ugly, or fat, or anything. Plus that I might be kind of scary for some people because of my length, so they won't look for a fight with me. Maybe that way I can help you that Bastian and Cathy won't bother you."

"Yeah, maybe…" Caine continued in a less demanding tone, but still wasn't convinced of his motives. "Why didn't you try to help Lance?"

"I did, but we didn't like each other. He rather stayed with his own group of friends. They didn't seem to like you, is that possible?"

"That's very possible –" "SAM!"

Before he could finished that sentence, Sam was caught by a loud, flying, familiar projectile.

Holding a baffled Sam tightly in her arms, Brianna began pouring out her heart, blabbering on about how much she had missed him, how lonely she had been, how worried she had been, how angry she had been when she had heard Dekka had died, when Edilio had been taken away after saving her live, when Jack had been ripped apart by the gaiaphage…

At that point she burst into tears and starting sobbing hysterically in Sam's shirt. Sam tried to comfort her, patting her awkwardly on the back, feeling like losing it himself. But he couldn't, he had to be strong, for Brianna, he couldn't be selfish, not now. As always…

Caine had stopped interrogating Jurrian, and followed Sam along with the two Europeans to an empty table nearby.

When she sat down, she regained her composure. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let myself go this way." "It doesn't matter."

"Shall I… go get some friends?" Sam nodded, and let Jurrian walk away. He hadn't addressed Marco, but he went after him nonetheless. Meanwhile Caine had silently sat down at the table, at Sam's right hand so he wouldn't have to sit near Brianna, and looked the other way.

"So," she smiled weakly as she tried to wipe her face clean. "how are you doing?"

"Better than two months ago." He joked, trying to lighten the mood. She nodded absently in response.

"That's good. That's good… Me too." She took a deep breath and turned serious. "I'm glad you're back."

A moment of silence fell, but Sam didn't mind, as his thoughts raced through his head. He been there when Jack died, they had all been there, and it had been a horrible sight to see. But Sam could live with that, even though it shouldn't have happened. That had just been the FAYZ. Far worse had been Dekka's death. The last time he had seen her, was when he had left with Caine to defeat the gaiaphage. She had stayed in Perdido Beach, with Brianna and Edilio, to keep the children save. When the FAYZ had ended, he hadn't heard anything of anyone for days, he only discovered she had died when her name appeared on the endless death list, read out publically by the mayor. It still made him furious. No one would tell him anything, they didn't know, couldn't reach him through security or just didn't see the need. But he longed to know, he wanted to see her one last time, wanted to know where her grave was, so he could mourn over her tragic but probably heroic fate.

"Sam?" He came out of his embittered pondering. "Is Caine going to stay with us?"

An irritated Caine bowed forward to get a view of Brianna. "Is that a problem for you? If so, you might try to find some other friends, cause yes, I'm going to stay with Sam as he is my _brother_ and it's not like I've had much time to get to know other people. But unfortunately you'll be bound to stay with us anyway: apparently you lack the social skills to make friends yourself."

"_Social skills_!? Who's talking about social skills? Or do you mean the skill to threaten people so you get what you want?"

"Oh, come on! You've been here for at least a month and you still haven't found a single person to socialize with? That's just ridiculous! Who's your roommate?" New tears glistened in her eyes.

"Caine, back off! She has very good reasons to mistrust you!"

"So you're choosing her side now? Of course! Found an old buddy, and immediately we start the hate-Caine-club again! You know what, shall I dig up Drake in the meantime? Then we can revive the good old times!"

"GOOD OLD TIMES! You sick, disgusting –"

"Guys, please! No one here sees the FAYZ as good old times! No one want to be here! And no one here can find their way here alone –they hate us!– so we have to stick together!" He ran his hand desperately through his hair and looked across the canteen. Near the unbreakable windows at the other side of the room Jurrian and Marco were chatting with a couple of girls.

"Brianna, please listen. You may not like this, but I want you to be friends with Caine –" "And I don't have a say in this!? What makes you think I want to be friends with her!" "Dude, let me first talk to –" "Sorry, Sam. But the feeling is _mutual_." "AT LEAST ACT CIVILLY!"

Finally they were silent.

"You can hate each other as much as you want, but not while I'm around, okay? I'm not going to act as your mediator, and neither am I going to turn my back on any of you because you can't overcome your grudges! We are the _only_ three Perdido survivors around –apart from the Human Crew, but they don't count– so we all need to at least _attempt_ to forgive each other and start over again. So, Caine, try to be nice to Brianna, just like you're nice to me. And Brianna," he sighed.

"please trust Caine. He can't do anything anymore, and he's in the same boat as us, so I want to build up a normal brother-brother relationship now. And you'll help me with that, deal?"

After a few seconds of consideration, Brianna reluctantly agreed. However much she hated to admit, Caine was right. She was friendless. No one had seemed to have compassion, most people avoided her. And those were the nice ones…

"And about my roommate, she's just some manic-depressive girl who ignores me most of the time. Her name is Emily, she's from Southampton, but we never talk. I don't mind her, she's probably afraid she'll lose her friends if she associates with me." She glanced at a certain person she _did_ mind however. "You share a room together?"

"Yeah. We arrived at the same time, we are in the same class… So they automatically placed us together, I guess. I'm not sure how the room system works, actually."

"Who are those guys you were talking with?"

"The blond one is Jurrian, the other one is Marco. We met them during English, turns out they want to help us with some cliques. They're very nice, although Marco doesn't talk much. They think we shouldn't be judged for what we did in the FAYZ."

"You actually believed that?" exclaimed Caine on a surprised tone. "Sammy boy, sometimes you are so incredibly naïve. Surely, he is aware not everything the media says needs to be true, but we aren't entirely innocent either. In comparison with us, most students here are rather harmless. Our fault or not, we've _murdered_ people, Sam! And he must know that, and yet he tells us he thinks we're victims, because 'the FAYZ wasn't our fault'. Then why isn't he helping others? We can't possibly be the only ones who are here by accident, it just can't, and we're certainly not the only ones who'll face problems with cliques like the neo-Nazis, those guys hate the half world. So why us? Why _Lance_?"

Sam just stared at him blankly, wondering whether Caine had always been this paranoid.

"I'll tell you why: he's obsessed by the FAYZ, and especially by us, the _freaks_. That's also the reason he couldn't get along with the Human Crew very well."

"And how exactly is this a bad thing?"

"That depends on _why_ he's interested in the FAYZ, so we need to get to know more of his background before we can decide what to do." He saw the skeptical look on Sam's face. "At least, that's what I'm gonna do."

A cheerful Jurrian with a Marco and two younger girls were coming their way.

"Sam! Caine! I want you to meet some people! This," he put his arm around a pretty looking girl with brown hair and eyes, "is Esther, my best friend from Deventer, and this is her friend Marilou," he gestured at the other girl, who had curly dark brown hair, glasses and freckles, "she's from Canada!"

"Jurrian. Can I ask you something?"

He laughed out loud. "It actually surprises me you ask."

"Why are you here?"

The laughter stopped and his eyebrows knitted together in a confused frown. "I already told you, I want to help you –"

"No. I mean: why are you here at Dorothy Hills. So far, I've seen Perdido survivors, sect members, neo-Nazis, someone who's manic-depressive and I thought some of the students were hallucinating during the lessons, so what's your disorder?"

"Oh," he sounded bored, as if he regarded it as something nonsensical, "they think I'm crazy because I believe Esther that the world is going to end soon." Their expressions varied from surprised to questioning as all eyes turned to the girl just introduced as Esther.

"Uh, well. I think I need to explain. So, I am Esther, Esther Meuldijk, and I'm fifteen years old. I know Jurrian already for quite some time, we used to live across the road during our childhood and I've always been a very good friend of Jurrian's sister, Femke, so we've been seeing each other regularly. He also knew I had a kind of sixth sense since… well, I've had it my whole life actually.

It's like I can _feel_ what's going to happen, just like other people kind of feel when is the best moment to ask a question, for example. That way I can predict anything, things like earthquakes, tsunamis, meteor strikes but also things like public reactions to big events, the newest trends, the weather. Usually, it depends on how big it is and soon it will take place how _clear_ I can feel it, you know.

So well, for some things I've felt them coming for whole my life, like the FAYZ and also what Jurrian called _the end of the world_." Her sarcastic tone earned her a annoyed look from Jurrian.

"Hoezo, 'what Jurrian called _the end of the world_'!? Zo noem jij het zelf ook de hele tijd!"

"Nee… Ik zei dat er een soort oorlog zou komen, een geheel nieuwe wereldorde, maar niet het eind van de wereld."

"Jawel! Dat zei je letterlijk, die eerste keer al dat je het erover had: 'Weet je nog, Jurrian? Dat grote ding wat ik de hele tijd aan voel komen? Volgens mij is dat het _einde van de wereld_.' Dat zei je! Echt!" Esther shook her head with a wide grin on her face.

"Can you please stop talking gibberish and tell us why you ended up here!?"

She chuckled. "Of course. So well, I felt a lot of war and chaos coming and wanted to warn others so we could prepare ourselves. Most people didn't take me serious, but Femke did and soon she involved Jurrian and we created our own little 'Apocalypse' group." Jurrian mumbled something unintelligible around the word 'Acopalypse'. "By then, I knew it would be a very violent time, because people would fight over something worth live or death, so we started to train and we searched for any information which could be useful, while still trying to persuade our friends to join us.

I can tell Jurrian and Femke weren't entirely sure either, but I was really frightened, it really was like I saw a large, menacing thundercloud coming up, you know? But what I said _was_ impossible, so it was understandable they didn't believe me, until…" She swallowed and looked at Sam, like she felt sorry for him for some reason.

"_Until_ the FAYZ came up, and my impossible predictions started to play out. That was when realization really hit, that that war _was_ going to happen soon, and _everyone_ would have to fight for their lives, so… we needed to be able to protect ourselves."

"And then I started skipping school, really practiced fighting, started using all kinds of things as weapons, like knives, hammers and uhm, axes, and a lot of, uhm… Hoe zeg je _prikkeldraad_?" "Barbed wire." "Oh ja, and I bought an electric weapon from a farmer and then guns and munition of a guy in Belgium, but those things are illegal in the Netherlands and people became afraid and they told us they would give us up by the police. So at a certain point we tried to drive to Germany but there we were arrested for _under age driving_." He took a breath, like he wanted to say something, but then shook his head as if he couldn't find the words.

"Yeah… I came in a youth prison, but there they saw it was useless to keep me there, so they sent us to Dorothy Hills at the end of the summer, Esther to the third and I to the fourth because I had totally missed the fourth year."

"So, to sum up," Caine looked Jurrian deep in the eyes, trying to find any hidden motives there. "The girl is a kind of fortune teller, you have been sent here for skipping school and collecting a weapon arsenal and there will be a third world war in a few months?"

"That's about it."

Yes, Jurrian told the truth. This was the reason why they had been sent to DH, they wouldn't invent such a lengthy, detailed story to answer the question "why are you here". So they really believed in what they said. They had to be really sure of Esther's predictions, and if she indeed had foreseen the FAYZ…

But it did explain why he was interested in them, and that had been Caine's main goal. Esther had predicted the FAYZ, and maybe she knew more, so of course they were thrilled to see them: they wanted to know what had happened. How far her visions could be explained. And frankly, he wanted to know it too. It was unique, fascinating and most of all: valuable information he should use. Plus, having some guy who apparently knew how to fight was always a great advantage on your side.

Sam rather felt a little dazed by the things he had heard, of course he could have expected that _everyone_ at Dorothy Hills would have an eccentric past, but somehow he hadn't expected Jurrian to have such extraordinary ideas, or to go to such an extent to carry them out. He had seemed so… normal. But well, he wasn't one to judge: Sam himself wasn't exactly normal either. Sam himself was much worse.

While Caine went on questioning Jurrian and Esther about their skills and willingness to cooperate, Brianna had more urgent things on her mind.

"Sam…"

The school bell rang, indicating the break was over and the students should prepare to go to their next lesson. Everyone stood up to leave, to therapy, as Jurrian and their schedule said.

"Sam!" Brianna grabbed Sam's arm and turned him away from the stream of students walking to their classes.

"What is it?"

"I still wanted to warn you for something."

"Neo-Nazis? Christian extremists? Jurrian told us already –"

"No, no. The Human Crew. They are back, and they want to take revenge on you."

"Of course, I'm a –"

"Let me finish! Antoine is here, he's a kind of martyr in their eyes, he has set everyone against you!"

"Antoine…" Sam felt kind of embarrassed he couldn't really understand what Brianna was talking about. He saw Caine standing beside Jurrian, urging him to go.

"The kid you shot during Zil's fire! Lana healed him, but he still has a hole in his back the size of a saucer!"

That news startled him. How could it be he hadn't known?

"Sam!" Caine had never been patient, and now the guards in the nearly empty canteen were walking their way.

"I… I have to go. Thank you Brianna, see you at lunch!"

He hastily walked away as Brianna went to her class.

"What were you two talking about!?"

"Antoine is here at school. He still has a scar from when I burned him."


	5. Chapter 4: Mister Collins

**So this is now my longest chapter ever. More than 4000 words! (For some that might not be much, but I tend to spend a lot of time and thought for relatively short texts.) Enjoy!**

* * *

Society courses, as the school policy preferred to name the therapy, took place in a light, spacious room connected to the office where the individual sessions were held. During each course of two hours, in which the class was supposed to discuss their problems and feelings with each other and train their social skills, four students would be called away from the group therapy to speak with Mister Collins, the school's psychologist or psychiatrist, depending on the students' needs. Since this was Sam and Caine's first society course, they were both scheduled a meeting with Mister Collins today, so he could get to know them and define their psychological needs. He didn't look forward to it…

Eric Collins had much, much rather been a news anchor. It had been his dream since he could remember, being in the spotlights, being the boss, people looking up to him, being charming, smart, handsome, intriguing. But his father had wanted him to finish college, go to university, get a real job, and Eric had wanted to make his father proud. And even though it wasn't the career he had hoped for, psychologist was still a sophisticated, exiting, attractive profession, or so he thought. The truth was he was dealing with a bunch of antisocial, immature kids, even now he worked at an internationally acknowledged institution.

He got the right folders for the coming sessions out of a drawer. There they were, Mister Cute and Mister Charming, Connie Temple's commanding, frightening brats. He chuckled inwardly. Cute and Charming, he could have been a great comedian too, if only he had ever wished to steep that low.

He opened Charming's records as Frank, his personal guard in this school, stepped in.

"The students have arrived, sir."

He nodded. It was time to start the show. "Bring me Mister Caine Temple, please, Frank."

A few seconds later Charming –_don't say that out loud, Eric, don't say that out loud_– entered the room, with an annoyed look and a haughty allure. He walked straight to Eric, stopped at the desk and extended his hand officially.

"My name is Caine Temple, student of this school. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Already irritated by the kid's arrogance Eric shook his hand. "Thank you. My name is Eric Collins, the official psychologist and psychiatrist of Dorothy Hills. Would you now _please_ sit down, Mister Temple?"

He sat down in the chair across the desk. Frank locked the door and took his stance.

"Well, Mister Temple. I see you were raised as an adoptive son by the Soren family, and continued calling yourself Caine Soren in the FAYZ anomaly, am I right?"

"Yes, indeed."

"May I ask you why you have changed your name into Temple?"

"The Sorens didn't want me back, it was Miss Temple who at least tried to set me free. And besides, they were the people who had sent me to Coates in the first place, so I can't say we had a very good relationship."

Eric wrote down: _no good relationship with parents_. How surprising.

"So you were send to Coates Academy prior to the anomaly. Must have been a lot like Dorothy Hills, huh?"

Caine shrugged. "In some way..."

"Why where you send to Coates?"

Caine sent Eric a bored, irritated look. "They thought I was abnormally manipulative, self-centered and ruthless, if you need to know."

"Yes, I need to know. That could explain why you handled so careless with other peoples' lives while boasting around with titles as 'King' and 'Fearless Leader'." He said mockingly.

"They raised me wrong." Caine snapped.

"So you would blame your narcissistic behavior on your upbringing?"

Caine viewed the man. In his late forties, still trying to look good. Expensive looking, pitch black suit, his greying hair smoothly combed backwards, he would be considered handsome, had he been a famous actor. Arrogant, obviously, doing it for the status and money. Who dared the arrogant jerk call narcissistic?

"Are we just going to talk about my sweet childhood memories or do you have real questions to ask?"

Eric gritted his teeth.

"During the FAYZ, you terrorized children. Could you tell me why?"

"Could _you_ be more specific?"

"The murder of Alicia Rodriguez."

…

"Who?"

Did he really not know who Alicia was or was he playing some heartless game? Eric couldn't decide what would be more sickening.

"Alicia Rodriguez. Several children have testified you threw her into a building using your power during the so-called 'Thanksgiving battle', killing her instantly. Why did you do it?"

"Oh, the Thanksgiving battle! My main aim was defeating my brother and gaining control over Perdido Beach again, there may have been some fatalities in the process."

"You seem to take it rather lightly."

"You can't keep pondering on it, right? That's what Sammy did, and look where it got him!"

Caine laughed a hard, unhappy laugh.

No, Charming wasn't a good nickname after all. He was much too distasteful for that. And what he and his brother had done wasn't exactly _cute_ either.

"Do you have any other mental or psychological problems, apart from your evident lack of empathy and taste, you could inform me of?"

"You mean if I hallucinate!?" he said, barely containing his sneer, "No, I don't. Or I don't think so at least. What do you think? You've been to university for this, not me."

He professionally chose to ignore those remarks.

"There is nothing in the FAYZ that's still troubling you?"

"The FAYZ is _gone_, my friend. The Darkness is _gone_. And my mental troubles are gone with it."

"The Darkness?"

"Green nuclear monster? Gaia? As my psychologist you should have known that. It had crept in my head and controlled me for some time. But I killed it, and now it's _gone_!"

Yes, Eric had heard about that. A pile of nuclear waste that made people his slaves and wanted to kill them all. He added _prone to dangerous addictions_ to Caine's list.

"Your records say you tried to _kill_ your _brother_ several times. Is that true?"

"Yes, that's true."

"That doesn't strike you as odd or mental?"

"We just both wanted to stay in power. Or actually," his face formed a nostalgic smile. "I wanted the power, Sam just wanted to prevent I got the power. You have to keep in mind we weren't really brothers, as I we didn't really know each other."

"But he's in your class now. How is your relationship?"

"Pretty good."

That surprised him. He made a mental note to ask Sam about this later.

"What has changed?"

"I don't know how many times I've told you, but _the FAYZ is gone_. We have no Perdido Beach to fight _over_, no power to fight _with_. We're at the same side now, and I personally think he's having a harder time dealing than me. I may be not very compassionate, but I can understand his frustration, and the only thing he ever tried to do was to keep as many children possible _alive_! He has been a much better person than me, and yet you lock us up together. It's a miracle he hasn't snapped yet.

Really, it's unbelievable he's still so nice and friendly and polite to everyone. Even to me! He is much too nice to me, and I tell him that, but he doesn't care. It's a forced relationship, actually, he's the only one you've allowed me to talk to, and as far as I know it's also true the other way around. And now, he is the closest thing to a friend I have, I've ever had! He seems to have forgiven me, and I'm grateful, _as far as I can feel gratitude_, it's more than I could have hoped for. He's not too bad to be around."

"No hard feelings?"

"Towards Sam? No. Towards you, the school and the rest of the whole fucking States of America? Yes."

"Even while he has kept you away from what you wanted?"

"He did only so because he felt he had to, and what had it been worth, after all? You're also keeping me away from what I want, but you've no reason."

"No reason? You should know, there's a very good reason we don't let you lose, leave alone give you power. Your behavior is unacceptable, you're a danger to the community!"

"That wasn't what I was talking about. Where is Diana? Why don't I know how she is!"

"You're afraid she'll get in trouble?"

"I'm afraid _people_ will get her in trouble, _people like you_! All this time, these full two months I've been stowed away in hospitals, prisons, institutions, treated like a kind of _threatening, ultra-rare zoo animal_, like a kind of_ alien bomb that is going to destroy the earth_, I haven't seen her _once_! WHERE IS SHE!?"

Mister Collins wrote something down in his records again. Caine jumped up with a snarl. "THAT'S IT! What am I supposed to do? Open up my heart to you so you can scribble down what's wrong with me!? _You_ are _my_ psychologist, it's _your job_ to help _me_, but you aren't helping me at all! Do you really want to claim, that you've actually spent years studying for this? 'Cause if you have, you've WASTED YOUR TIME! You are NOT DOING A GOOD JOB!" Caine looked at him, he clearly was offended. Good.

"You're worthless. I'm not going to waste my precious time answering your useless questions. I hope we never meet again, _Mister Collins_."

He stepped towards the door, but was stopped by the much broader guard. "LET ME THROUGH!"

Frank looked over at Eric. He sighed and wove his hand dismissively. "Let him trough. You can bring me the next one."

* * *

They sat in a circle. Among the students sat two so-called 'society coaches', who led the courses and who were meant to function together with Mister Collins as their confidants. Try to discuss your problems confidentially during group therapy…

"Good morning everyone!"

"Good morning Miss Mitchell, good morning Mister Beckens."

Mister Beckens nodded a own good morning to the group.

Miss Mitchell spoke to the group again: "Today is the day that we have two new MIPs amongst us, Caine and Sam Temple. You've probably already met them in your first lesson, but now it's time to introduce ourselves properly to the new students. We'll see Caine later, as he is now with Mister Collins, but we'll already start with you, Sam. It's fine to call you Sam?"

He nodded in response, he wouldn't want her to call him any different names.

"Alright then! Let's begin! Anika," she turned to the girl sitting directly to her right, "could you please start? Stand up, speak clearly, so we all can hear you and tell us your full name, how we can call you, where you're from and why you're here at DH, please."

Anika did what she was told to, as did the person next to her, and so everyone gave a short introduction of themselves. Sam soon gave up remembering all the information at once, that would be an impossible task, but he noticed this wasn't actually meant as a way to tell him the names of his classmates, but rather as an exercise for the students in something that turned out to be pretty difficult for some. As one girl told him, stuttering, blushing and looking the other way, that she used to be so shy that she had locked herself in her room for weeks, he almost felt ashamed himself for being there, putting her in this situation. The only introductions he did remember, where those of the people he already knew:

"My name is Lance Hunswick, you can call me_ the one who knows where you belong_, I come from Perdido Beach, California and I'm here for unsuccessfully trying to wipe out your cruel, selfish and murderous sort called _freaks_."

Miss Mitchell looked condemnatory at Lance. "I understand you maybe have been afraid of Mister Temple in the past, but I'm sure he has never meant you –or your friends– any harm" that wasn't entirely true, Sam wondered if Mitchell knew, "and we must never judge people on their physical abilities. In the end we are all the same, we're all people, and we are all at Dorothy Hills to become good mannered, capable civilians, so here we don't say bad things about each other. So do you say sorry to Sam and promise us to never say such things again?"

Sam had never heard such an insincere apology as the one that came out of Lance's mouth.

After a dozen others, it was Marco's turn to speak.

"You already know me and you can just call me Marco, but my full name is Marco Antonio di Parcella. I'm fifteen years old, I come from Modena in North Italy and I'm here because I can still see the ghosts of my parents, but others don't so they think I'm weird when I talk with them. But here not and I'm very grateful for that. Mister Collins says I'm schizophrenic."

"Thank you, Marco. Jurrian?"

"Well, I'm Jurrian Martijn Helbering, Sam can call me Jurrian or Jur if he wants to, I come from Deventer in the Netherlands, I'm seventeen and I'm here because I prepared myself for a kind of war."

Sam smiled noticing how he didn't mention _the end of the world_ this time. Jurrian stopped towering over everyone else and sat down: it was Sam's turn.

He stood up and looked across the group. Lance was trying to intimidate him, but he wouldn't let himself be intimidated, not after everything he'd been through, and he would neither have before the FAYZ, he realized.

"I'm Samuel Temple, sixteen years, everyone can call me Sam. Uhm… I am from Perdido Beach, as you probably know, and I'm here because…" Why did they send him here, actually? "Because I'm one of the Perdido survivors who've had to fight during the FAYZ."

He heard a huff from the opposite side of the circle. "That's one way to put it."

"Lance!" the woman sent Lance what was probably supposed to be a stern look, but it was simply impossible to consider the young blonde threatening. "I don't like handing out penalties, but if you say one bad word again about anyone in this room, I'll give you a week long canteen duty!"

Lance rose his hands defensively, "Alright, alright. I won't say a word."

And surprisingly, he didn't. But Sam knew he was still far from forgiven…

After the introduction round they spent their time thinking about their future and writing it down on a large sheet of paper: what kind of work they aspired to do, if they would want a family and why (not), how they wanted to accomplish that. Anything was right as long as it stroke with reality, and as Mister Beckens and Miss Mitchell said it did.

It was then when everyone looked up for the rumor from Mister Collin's office.

"LET ME THROUGH!"

An upset Caine moved through the door in their direction. Had he still had his powers, someone would without doubt have gone through a wall by now. Following the infuriated sixteen-year-old was the imposing guard, who gestured Sam it was his turn to visit the therapist.

As Sam made his way to the door, Caine hissed a brief warning in the passing: "Good luck. The therapist is an unprofessional, jerky prick. Even Coates had better!"

Sam walked on, not knowing what to think of that. He guessed Caine was honest to him, so the guy might be a prick, but on the other hand it would be typical for Caine to get into an argument with the school's psychologist. But it didn't matter anyway, whatever Caine thought of him, Sam would soon be able to make a judgment himself.

When he came in he saw Mister Collins looked slightly worn out, but his slick, handsome, Hollywood actor look still reminded Sam of the attractive doctor in cheap soap operas.

"Sam Temple?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Please, take a seat, Mister Temple."

He gestured with his hand to the chair opposite of him and Sam sat down. The guy looked seriously pissed off.

"I am Eric Collins, and I'm the psychologist and psychiatrist here. I would like to ask you some questions."

Sam nodded. "Okay." Eric glanced at the kid. Acting nice and innocent, as always. Trying to gain trust, with that obnoxious surfer look of his, trying to make them forget what he had done, like it was nothing, like _he_ was nothing but a happy-go-lucky teenager forced to play the hero's part. _Mister Cute_. There was no cute or innocent hair on his head. He had been a leading figure in the FAYZ, terrorizing people into following him, burning his way to power. And he wasn't even straight about it, like his brother. Girls all over America thought he was sweet, hot, _cute_! It was abhorrent.

"Do you have any serious mental problems left from the anomaly, like hallucinations, incoherent thoughts or unexplainable feelings?"

In other words, was he crazy. "No."

"Do you experience nuisances of memories from the FAYZ?"

Sam decided to be completely honest. "I do still have nightmares about it, but I usually try to not to think about it."

"What happens in those nightmares?"

"It… differs, from time to time." There was no use in telling him most were about Drake or the gaiaphage, they were both death anyway.

"Has the anomaly changed your personality?"

"Yes, definitely." This could be interesting. "In what way?"

"I think it has made me more mature, more serious, more responsible, but I think that could be true for many Perdido survivors. Don't get me wrong, I'm still Sam, I still have no other plans for the future than to become a professional surfer, but I have the feeling I've learned to appreciate the simple things in live, like having access to food and health care, and I know now how to handle responsibility." This was _not_ what Eric had hoped for, and neither what he had expected. Why did he have the feeling he was talking to a celebrity, dedicated to achieving world peace and doing volunteer work in his self-funded orphanage in Africa? This kid had acted like a dictator, a tyrant, a monster! It was time to take of his mask.

"Would you say you held a lot of responsibility in the FAYZ?"

"Yes, people would often come to me when there was a problem."

"How would you solve those problems?"

"That depends on the problem, mostly I or Astrid tried to figure out how to handle them."

"And whatever you said, was final."

Sam frowned. "That is not really what I wanted to say –"

"You mean other people had a say?"

"Yes, of course!"

"But in the end you decided yourself who to listen to."

"No! We had a council, we voted about things and I –"

"Who were in that council?"

"Me, Astrid, Dekka, Edilio –"

"In other words, your friends?"

"No, Albert for example, wasn't my friend, but he was very important, and John Terrifano, who represented – "

"But still people _you_ believed you should listen to. Or have you been elected into the council, with every inhabitant having a vote, like most modern democracies? That isn't what I've heard."

Sam opened and closed his mouth angrily, but didn't know what to say. Mister Collins was telling the truth, the truth he had always been afraid of.

"For example, what if there was a tedious chore no one wanted to do? Who ended up doing it?"

Mister Collin's disapproving smirk said enough: he already knew the answer. People would only do chores because Sam told them to, and no one had ever refused. The reason for that was certainly not that he was so excellent at convincing people, or that he could point out the importance of their tasks for their survival, no. They just didn't dare to. People had been intimidated by him, they feared his power.

But still, he had never used it to oppress people. That had been Caine's thing. The only aim Sam ever had was to keep as many children possible alive.

"Well?"

"Alright! I confess! I scared people, and I misused that! But what else was I supposed to do!? I was the only one they would listen to, the only one who could defend them! _That_ was my only goal, to defend them, even if that meant I had to force them doing things they actually didn't want to! Even if that meant I had to take charge myself! But can you blame me for that? Can _you_ blame me for that!? You have no idea how it is like to be shot, whipped, ripped apart by coyotes, crushed, broken, burnt –" It suddenly stroke him how absurdly often he had been lethally injured, it was just ridiculous! He should remind himself to send Lana a "Thank you!" post card as soon as he got the chance.

He noticed Mister Collins was staring at him, skeptical, uninterested, lunch on his mind… Was this the person he was supposed to bare his soul for? This was useless, nothing he had said seemed to make an impression, this man wasn't here to listen, wasn't here to help him. He was here for the money. Merely for the money.

After a second he seemed to sense Sam had stopped his rant and wrote something down. _n__eeds to process the anomaly_, just beneath: _r__efuses to admit his crimes_, _n__o signs of remorse_, _c__raves for power _ and _r__eckless, sociopath?_. He raised his pen, thought for a second and then added: _a__ttitude problem_.

"Your brother, Caine, told me you've improved your relationship after the anomaly, despite your previous animosity. Can I ask why?"

Actually Sam didn't feel like responding to this man anymore. "The animosity was mainly because he formed a danger, but the FAYZ hasn't been easy for him either. I mostly felt sorry for him, and he was the only one I was allowed to speak to. Turned out to be better company than I expected."

As Mister Collins bowed down over his records again, weak yelling noises sounded from the door. Then they heard Frank's walkie-talkie crackling to live.

"Major fight in therapy room. Security assistance needed immediately."

Frank promptly opened the door revealing the source of the noise: at least eight people were trying to bang each other to another world. And after looking more closely: Caine was in the middle of it.

Sam gritted his teeth as he walked towards the door. The scene was almost comical. His brother was being held by a boy whose name Sam had forgotten, but of whom he still knew he couldn't resist the urge to join any fight. Two others were trying to beat him while fending off Jurrian, being surprisingly resolute in keeping his promises, who was dealing hard blows. A little to the left was the probable cause of the scuffle: Lance laying on the ground underneath a group of colored and skin headed youth, currently more occupied with fighting out their religious, racial and ideological conflicts than actually kicking the initial victim. The boy Sam now knew as _the Muslim extremist_ was loudly yelling at the crowd in supposedly a form of Arabic, while being held by one of the guards. The other guard was chasing after the mindless hooligan trying to join the fight, for he was a mindless hooligan. One of the guys who had attacked Lance during math was leaning against a chair, trying to remain conscious.

Miss Mitchell and Mister Beckens stood somewhat awkwardly to the side, together with the rest of the group, not knowing what to do. One girl was overenthusiastically clapping and cheering, for yet unknown reasons.

Soon the _security assistance _arrived and about twelve guards broke up the fight and took the troublemakers away. Sam heard Mister Collins chuckling at his side. That annoyed him far more then Caine getting himself in trouble. The bastard.

Well, at least they had better therapists at Coates.


	6. Chapter 5: CCTV

Sheldon Moreland, Dorothy Hills principal, watched the dark blue Chevrolet accessing the car park as the porter already pushed a button to close the impressive gates. The car halted on a spot amongst the empty guest places, and she stepped out of the shelter of the door to welcome her guests. Usually she would only do this for important financial partners, but this was certainly an exceptional case.

A woman stepped out of the passenger seat and received her hand first.

"Good afternoon. I am Sheldon Moreland, principal of the school. Welcome to Dorothy Hills."

"Thank you. My name is Mary Boyle, private detective. It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Miss Moreland."

"Me too." She turned to the man who now was on their side of the car. "Sheldon Moreland, principal. We are _so_ grateful you could be here."

"We are glad we can help you in this case. I'm Craig Boyle."

"Welcome, Mister Boyle. Would you like something to drink?" "Could we have some coffee, please?"

"Of course. Please follow me inside."

As Mary followed her to the principal's office, she took a good look around. The entrance hall –which also was the main hall– was spacious, light and open. Left and right were smaller hallways, above which was a gallery that went all the way around the corner, where the main hall turned to the right. The roof was made of glass which was the source of most of the light and right in front of them, just above what seemed to be the entrance to the canteen, was a proud, prominent, enormous, American flag.

But the open architecture couldn't hide the stern, steel fences, blocking the access to the canteen, and more importantly, blocking the way out.

All the hallways seemed to be painted in different rainbow colors, but that couldn't chase away the grimness of the place. As they passed the one guard who stood watch, he greeted them formally.

They turned around the corner, went up the stairs to the gallery and took the first, purple, hallway right. Miss Moreland led them to the last white door left, and started searching through her bunch of identical keys. She then unlocked the door and revealed a nice, small meeting room, entirely different from what she'd seen so far: it was friendly and normal, the plain white walls were decorated with photos and a trophy shelf, the floor was cover with a fluffy dark blue carpet instead of linoleum and sunlight shone through normal, balusterless windows.

"Take a seat, please." She nodded to the oval meeting table in the middle of the room while she locked the door –locked the door?– and crossed the room to the door at the other side, which apparently didn't need to be locked.

"You would like coffee?"

"Yes, please."

She disappeared through the door to get coffee. Mary shared a look with her husband, Craig, who sat opposite of her. She didn't know if it was because of the fences, guards, rainbow colored hallways with locked doors or just the fact that this could be a murder scene, but there was something unsettling about this school.

Miss Moreland came back with three cups of coffee. She placed them carefully on the table and sat down at the head, between the detective couple.

"So. For the next couple of months, you'll be able to stay here at Dorothy Hills at night. Most teachers, staff and myself as well practically live here and I strongly recommend that for you too, to live with us during your investigation. It is too far to drive to a hotel and back every day."

"Thank you, I think we will. But first we would like to discuss the case, please."

"Go ahead."

After getting her recorder and the list with questions they had prepared, she began her interrogation. She had once aspired to do these interrogations without, just like her many fictional idols, but in the course of years she discovered this was simply impossible. So recorder it was.

"Could you tell me how you found out Miss Donte and Mister Lee had disappeared?"

Miss Moreland's face was utterly serious, this wasn't a subject she talked easily about. "That was in the morning, at breakfast. I and the teachers sleep in the same wing and eat together in a common room, so we noticed at some point Susan Donte wasn't attending. We wondered where she was, whether she felt ill, so we decided to look for her in her room, but her room…" She sighed, apparently sad for the disappearance of her colleague. "Her room was empty. Then we really started to worry, we searched the whole wing, the whole school, but couldn't find her anywhere. In the meantime Jeffry –Jeffry Beckens, one of the society coaches of the higher classes– had gone to the parking lot to look there, and he said her car was still at school, and the porter had said he hadn't seen anyone leaving that night, so she _had to be in the school_, but she wasn't! She had… disappeared." Her voice was desperate and weak at that last word, not understanding what was going in her school, what has happened to her friend. Mary had figured most of the staff had been close, living and working together, and sympathized with her, but needed more information.

"What about Lee Young?"

The principal wrung her hands while looking forward. Her words though sounded strong. "The same. When Jeffry came back he had noticed Mister Young's car was still present as well, so he suggested to visit him in the control room and watch the CCTV. But Young wasn't there, of course."

"And… the CCTV? We heard it wasn't working?"

She took a deep breath before answering. "Yes. When we tried to playback the recordings of the last night there was a large gap at midnight, between twelve and three or so. All cameras had a black screen at once, we don't know why, but it had happened before. Around seven weeks ago Mister Young told us the cameras would often go out at midnight, to work perfectly fine again a few hours after. According to him this had been going on already for several months, and because he had never encountered anything suspicious at those times he thought the system was simply failing. I hired some experts, who found nothing was wrong with either the cameras, the TV's or the recorder. But problems continued afterwards, so we have still no idea what's wrong with them. I _did _have a little warning light installed, so the teachers knew if they were working."

Craig sent Mary a surprised look. "That's… curious. Can we take a look in the control room?"

After some of-courses and other friendly words and a last sip of much too weak coffee they took off. She first quickly showed them their rooms in the teacher wing –they were quite nice and had each a separate bathroom– before stepping into the purple hallway again and locking the doors. This time Mary heard noises coming from downstairs.

"The students are having a break. I would prefer you wouldn't come near them though."

This stroke Craig as weird. "Why not?"

"Some can be quite violent, and they all will try to convince you of their absurd ideas. It will just disrupt their process. Don't come near them, don't listen to them, when you take them serious they will only start thinking they are _right_." She sighed and shook her head. "Please don't."

He glanced at the canteen, barricaded with fences and guards. Don't come near them, don't listen to them, don't take them serious. The three key rules of how to discipline a teenager. He couldn't help being skeptical.

The control room was at the end of a night-sky-dark-blue hallway directly left of the main entrance, that also led to the rooms of the guards. The room itself, locked, was painted in normal white tones and had a wooden floor. Opposite of the door where about ten TV screens, showing the live recordings of the CCTV. There also was a desk, on which a small box recorded all images on separate CD's.

"Have there been any problems with the CCTV since the incident?"

"No, not that I know off."

"You have a new night guard here, I assume."

"Yes, Tony."

Mary pored over the little moving images on the screen. Think, Mary, think! How can all cameras suddenly turn off at once, while experts can't find a problem? Unless they were corrupted, that should mean they _are_ fine. But then, how can they suddenly fall out? Think out of the box, Mary. Think like Holmes. Think like Poirot.

"Can we see one of the recordings of that night?"

"Yes, of course, but I don't really know how it works. I'll ask one of the guards."

She soon came back with a guard who managed to turn off the recorder, get out the first CD and put it into another TV, the only one that wasn't on already. Then the guard played back to the point just before the video turned black for more than three hours, and then showed the main entrance again.

"It's like something blockaded the lens." The guard muttered. Mary watch the fragment again, and again, and again, looking for something that could have caused it.

But Craig's attention was already distracted by the curious recording device. Bored, he switched it on and off a few times, when his eye fell on the two wires coming from the back. He followed them until where they disappeared in a hole in the desk, and pulled them up. They were stuck somewhere.

"What are these for?"

"One is for electricity, the other is for the signal of the cameras. Hey, what are you -"

Craig had two loose wires in his hand as the discs slowly stopped turning. The guard seemed rather upset he had turned the recorder off.

"Put it back! That one is the current of that thing!"

But Mary already knew what Craig was heading to.

"And the other is the signal..."


	7. Chapter 6: The new Human Crew

"So you see ghosts?" It was lunchtime and Sam was walking with Marco to the canteen. Caine and Jurrian hadn't returned yet since their fight, and Sam wondered if they would get something for lunch, wherever they were. He hoped so: he himself was terribly hungry, from now on he would eat something in the break _before_ therapy sessions. He also needed to pee.

"Yes. My parents died when I was five in a fire in our house. Since that time they are always with me, when it's busy they stand in a corner, but when I'm alone they come and talk with me."

"Isn't that creepy?"

Marco frowned, like he found that a strange question. "No. Why?"

"Dead people are following you?"

"They are my parents! I love them!" exclaimed Marco, but he sounded more confused than offended. Sam decided he would let it rest.

When they had found Esther and her friends, who were talking about boys, Sam asked Marco where the toilets were. He pointed the way and took place in the queue to get his food.

Sam went back through the canteen to the fences in the main hall and turned right. He passed the guards at the fence and found the lavatories in a hallway right next to the canteen. Glad to have finally found a toilet he pushed open the door with the little blue man, and halted…

Almost the entire Human Crew was waiting in the boy's lavatory.

Left, leaning against the sinks was Turk, looking just as creepy as he used to. Zil and Lisa had been standing beside him, but stepped forward as soon as he came in, blocking his way to the toilets. At their left side was a boy Sam certainly hadn't seen before, as he would have been too old to stay in the FAYZ. Sam tried not to look to his right, to the only toilet he could reach without passing Zil: Antoine was standing against its door. The only person missing was Lance.

Sam instantly saw what was coming. There was no way he could talk himself out of this, they had been waiting for him, and he couldn't possibly beat them in a fight. But he was far too proud to show his evident helplessness, and moreover, he needed to pee.

They said nothing, so the tried to just walk on, but the older boy was deliberately standing in his way.

"I'm sorry, can I pass please?"

Zil decided to respond for the boy. "No."

"Can't he talk for himself?"

"Yes, he can, but we all think the same anyway. We try to keep this lavatory moof-free."

Not expecting to succeed, Sam tried out the lame excuse Caine had used in math: "Well, I'm not exactly a moof anymore."

This only upset Zil more. "Do you think that's funny?"

"No." Sam waited a moment, and then groaned. "Come on! Don't be childish, just let me through!"

"Oh, poor boy. Doesn't the great Sam Temple get what he want? Can't he shoot laser beams anymore? Does he have to listen to others, just like ordinary people?" The Human Crew laughed. Sam turned to their newest member again.

"What are _you_ doing here, anyway? Aren't you a little too old to socialize with immature ninth graders?"

His vicious glare almost made Sam regret his question. "I had two younger siblings. One has been ripped apart by coyotes under your brother's command. The other has been burnt to ashes –with _your_ powers– by your…_ little niece_."

What the… WHAT!? "Do you think _I _wanted that to happen!? Do you think I didn't do my best to save them!? For your information, I and Caine _killed_ Gaia! What more would you want me to do!? Commit suicide so she wouldn't have my powers anymore!? Well, THAT'S WHAT I _TRIED_! I did EVERYTHING I COULD to keep EVERYONE SAVE! And you, what did you do to help me!? YOU SET THE TOWN ON FIRE!"

"You didn't try! You only cared for the freaks!" Irate, Sam whipped around to the owner of that voice and smacked him in the face. He shouldn't have done that.

Everyone stood still in shock. Sam's face was only a few inches away from Antoine's, which was still red from Sam's hand. His eyes radiated pure terror, traumatic fear for this boy in front of him, this boy who once had nearly killed him. He still could vividly remember those hours, the burning pain, the certainty those would be his last. He took a step backwards.

This is where Lisa went mad. "He hit him! HE HIT HIM! First, he shot him, and now HE HIT HIM! That arrogant, ugly chud is trying to scare you , Antoine! But he can't do anything, don't let him scare you! HIT HIM!"

But Antoine didn't hit him. He was frozen on his place.

Suddenly Sam felt a hand grabbing him from behind and throwing him aside. He managed to remain upright, but got a knee in his empty stomach. He did his utter best to fight of his assaulters, but he had no chance one against four. Soon his nose was bleeding, his left eye was turning purple and his body seemed to be bruised and hurt all over.

Then suddenly he heard one of the toilets flash and they stopped. Still being held by Turk and the new boy, Sam looked up to find the cause of their distraction.

A boy –or man, because of his small beard Sam estimated him near adult, probably a last year student– looked at the scene with a lightly surprised look. Would he help him out of this mess?

But instead of saying or doing anything against it, he looked at Lisa, stamped his left foot twice and left the lavatory.

That was weird and random, but Zil quickly shrugged it off as his face lightened up. "We've got you, Sam. You thought you were so though, huh? You thought you could ignore us, the normals, that we weren't important, that we couldn't hurt you, that we couldn't beat you." He gave him another kick in his stomach, he winced but refused to make any sound of pain. "Guess who beat who in the end! I did! Everyone was _so afraid_ of you, but actually you're nothing but an overrated, mutated, pitiful, LOSER!"

"Why then, did you bring four of your footmen to face me? Were you, even now I've lost my powers, too much a coward to face me on your own?"

His smile vanished and he became slowly red. "Just wait, we're not done with you. We're not done till we've brought all of you freaks down." He seemed to be lost for a moment, but then came up with an idea.

"Antoine! Stop standing there being useless, give me some paper!"

Antoine, having watched the fight from his spot near the door without moving, frowned at Zil confused. "Paper?"

"Come on! Rip some out of a notebook or something!"

They then disappeared out of Sam's view and he heard the rustling of paper and then the streaming of water. What were they doing?

Turk, holding him by his right shoulder began snickering dumbly as he looked behind him. Sam furiously stomped on his foot. "Ouch! You stupid –"

"Turk, shut up. You're stupid yourself." True.

Turk glared angrily at Lisa, who seemed untouched by it. But before something else could happen, Zil called Turk and the other boy, who Sam only now discovered to be called 'Chris', to join them.

Zil and Antoine stood before the sinks. There were three sinks. The one at the right was filled with water. Sam had never really expected Zil to be original.

"You are a surfer, right? You like water then, right? How long can you hold your breath?"

Before he even had time to answer, Turk pushed his head under. His vision blurred, blood mixed with water. He struggled to get up again, but the people holding him wouldn't give way. He had luck he had managed to get a quick gasp of air before being submerged, and yes, he could hold his breath quite long, but not _this_ long.

When she saw large air bubbles coming from Sam's nose and mouth, Lisa urged Turk and Chris to pull him up. Of course she was just as eager as the others to finally get revenge on this mega-freak, but she was still very aware of the fact this was a school, a school with gaurds, a school with students, witnesses, and things wouldn't get any better for the Human Crew when Sam was found dead.

He coughed frantically, trying to spit the water out of his windpipe. It had become red from his bleeding nose. He panted heavily. The moment he recovered his breath, Chris and Turk pushed him back into the sink.

Feeling useless, and still uneasy in Sam's presence, Antoine had taken on the function of watchman. He stood in the doorway, looking down the hall. He knew, he might be one of the few Perdido survivors who was actually lucky he ended up the way he did. His life was way better now than it had been ever before.

Before, even amongst his few friends, he used to be known as the 'fatty'. They had never really cared much about him, no one had. Then, after the famine started, when nobody was 'fat' anymore, they called him 'druggie'. And also that had been true, from the first time he had bought some stuff from Howard until the day he came here, he had been a drug addict. He had been worthless in their eyes.

Worthless. For a terrible moment he had been afraid that he was worthless enough to his friends to give up on and let die. He still thought that had been Hank's initial plan, actually, when he left him helpless on the beach. But again he had had luck: the others had been responsible enough to get Lisa to bring him to Lana. The walk had been slow, difficult, constant waves of burning pain had seemed to be extending across his entire body. He was sure he had lost his conscience a few times, but they made it to the plaza, where Lana had healed him, with great reluctance. Utter luck, she'd agreed to help him. Utter luck, he had such great friends. Utter luck, he survived that night. Hank had died.

Ever since, he had acquired actual respect. He now had become a martyr, a reminder for the Human Crew what they were fighting for. His hand crept to his side. There. A shallow remainder of a hole, a three-inch-wide patch of raw skin. And maybe a larger scar on his mind.

Someone came around the corner. A boy, maybe a year younger than him, saw him and slowed his pace. He looked at him curious, alarmed.

Antoine turned through the swing door inside. "Someone is coming!"

Chris and Turk quickly let go of Sam, who scrambled up to catch a breath. Word would spread anyway, but they didn't want to be caught in the act. Zil gave Sam a last painful whack on the head before following the rest out of the lavatory.

The boy anxiously waited for the group to pass, not wanting to draw attention from a gang of bullies. He then quickly ran inside.

There was someone leaning heavily against the sinks, dripping and panting. He glanced over his shoulder to the boy.

"Hey."

The boy was unsure how to respond. The other boy looked badly beaten up and above all, the boy was ashamed of his English. "Hey." He pointed awkwardly with his thumb over his shoulder. "Those guys… you have a problem?"

The other boy snorted and smirked grimly. "No, no problem. You are my savior I guess."

He wiped himself as dry as possible and fumbled the paper out of the drain so the water could flow away. As Sam finally made his way to the toilets, he noticed the poor graffiti on the doors, hastily scribbled down by a simple black marker. AMAM, and here and there the original Human Crew tag. Apparently, they had been waiting for a while.

When he was eating and talking with Brianna, Marco, Esther and her friends, who were startled by his appearance and had advised him to just use his private bathroom as much as possible, Sam felt a hand tapping him on the shoulder. It was the weird guy with the little beard.

"I saw you in the lavatory."

"I saw you too, dude. Why didn't you help me out?"

He shook his head, as if he was disappointed in Sam for not understanding him. "I can't help you out. You have to do it yourself."

"Yeah, I'll do that." Sam was ready to turn away, but the guy now grabbed his shoulder. Sam started to lose his patience.

"_What_?"

"I'll tell you how. You're in disgrace with Bracanu, the Great Goddess of Violence and War. You have to please her, or violence will continue to pave your path. Touch your heart five times before sleeping to thank her for her protection during the day, and touch your head five times when you wake up to thank her for a peaceful night. And every time you see her rage in the violence around you, and a girl is in their midst, stamp your left foot twice. Only then, you will have her blessing again. Good luck and may peace be upon you." And he turned around and strode away.

"Wow, dude. Thanks for your help." For once, the irony dripped from Sam's voice.

Marilou laughed wholeheartedly. "Welcome to Dorothy Hills, Sam. Welcome to Dorothy Hills!"


	8. Chapter 7: Morality

**I'm back with a new chapter! I had been away for three weeks for a holiday in Norway, but in that time I've written five chapters for The Temple Twins, one chapter for Warriors and Gods, one for Wereld der Eeuwigheid, my own story on fictionpress and a completely new Harry Potter/OC from own universe (the previous mentioned WdE universe) crossover. A whole notebook full, in one holiday. Only it takes a while before I can post them, I have to type them over in which I often add and change a lot. And a need my last free weeks for other things :). But I'll keep posting. Norway seems to have inspired me (although very expensive).**

* * *

Sam lay on his back, with his hands under his head, on the lower bed of their bunk-bed. Caine had claimed the upper one as soon as they had arrived – out of his strange sense of superiority, Sam guessed – and Sam had given in, seeing no use in arguing over such a futility.

Speaking of his brother, he hadn't seen him since therapy. He had expected Caine to be brought back at the first lesson after lunch, since he was sure the DH policy wouldn't approve of students missing lessons without a good reason, but no such thing.

It was nine PM now, dinner had long been finished and they'd had even some free time – which Sam had spent chatting with Brianna, they had a lot to catch up on – but still no sign of Caine. They now ought to be in their rooms, waiting for them to get checked and locked till the next morning. He wondered where Caine would sleep if he still was held.

Just when that thought crossed his mind, the door bounced open and Caine stepped in.

He looked trashed, with bruises starting to form on his arms and jaw, nearly as trashed as Sam himself. He sat up straight as Caine closed the door.

"Hey, brother. Long time no see, huh?" He walked towards the little bathroom as he continued talking. "Wanna know where I've been all this time? Let me tell you something. When they catch you fighting, – although you can't blame me with Lance being the jerk he is – when they catch you fighting, they put you into a room, even smaller than this one, a chest more than a room, I would say, all in plain white, no furniture," he put toothpaste on his brush and put it in his mouth, slurring his speech, "except for a little bench, but no sink, no toilet, no windows, no single form of decoration except of large, fat, painted, light blue capital letters saying:" he turned to Sam and held his hands in front of him, depicting the oversized words, "THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS".

Only as he let his arms fall back to their place, he noticed Sam's perilous state. "What's happened to you!?"

"Came across Zil and his comrades in the lavatory this afternoon. Weren't that happy to see me."

Caine grumbled something inaudible, toothbrush still in his mouth. Despite the circumstances, Sam snickered. "Are you angry now, for _my_ sake? That would be some news."

He gave him an annoyed glare as response. Whether it was because he was right, or because he wasn't, Sam could only guess.

"I'm angry because Zil apparently has gotten the best of you, Sam. I'm angry because that means we need to consider the Human Crew."

He turned out of view to spit into the sink, a second later Sam heard his toothbrush following.

"We _ruled_ the FAYZ! _I_ ruled the FAYZ! I was _King Caine_, no one dared to speak up against me, no one… no one…"

He didn't hear a thing, but Sam was quite sure he was crying. He was in doubt if he should try to help him or not.

"All this time, fighting for power, struggling to survive. It was hard, but I was a force to be reckoned with, _me_, because I kept going, kept fighting, kept striving, whatever the costs, whatever it took, I did it, _I_ did it… I DESERVED TO RULE!" Sam heard the innocent toothbrush clattering a second time, and decided to put a stop to his brother's rant.

He entered the bathroom and found Caine, looking in the mirror with crazed eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"We deserved to rule, Sam. King Caine or Mayor Sam, people followed me, unless they followed you. Either one of us. No one else. Two four bars in a world of pitiful nitwits. We fought for them. We suffered for them. In return, they followed us. It was only natural we would end the FAYZ. Ironic, isn't it, _we_ saved them, after months of fighting each other to get to power, we set aside our grudges and sacrifice everything we've achieved to save them, to end the FAYZ, we succeed and what happens? They lock us up."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Look at you, beaten up by the Human Crew. Do you think they'd have ever dared to do that when you still could burn them to a crisp? No, they're cowards. That's why we ruled, not just because we were powerful, but because we gave everything. You were a hero, Sam, courageous bordering suicidal, and I, _I_ was ambitious, a true ruler, a _king_! I got everything I'd ever aspired and I deserved it, I'd fought for every bit of it. People finally recognized me for who I was, I was _King Caine_, and look what's left of it, Sam, look what's left of it!"

He looked his brother straight in the eyes, showing his shaking form to him.

"NOTHING! WE'RE LOCKED IN A MENTAL INSTITUTION WITH LUNATICS AND TERRORIST-WANNABES!"

Sam cautiously came closer. "It's not for forever. If we work hard, do as they say, show them we're perfectly ordinary people, we'll graduate and be free. Many students go to college after DH, if we behave now we'll still have a whole life to live."

Caine snorted. "Do you believe that yourself?"

Truth was, he didn't. Yes, there was a certain percentage that graduated and had normal lives after Dorothy Hills, but it was very questionable that would go for them. In normal circumstances, they would have been in prison for their charges. In these delicate circumstances, the government wouldn't dare to sentence them with something as bolt as prison. It would have a different name.

"It's what I go for."

He put an arm around Caine's shoulder, led his instable brother to the bed and set him down at his side.

They sat there quietly for a minute. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, it was rather calming. Sam watched a miniscule spider trying to climb the wall, Caine looked out of the window.

"You know what it is? I want it back, the power. My power, I mean. The telekinesis. I want it back."

He turned his eyes away from the dark, cold glass and fixed them on a bitter Sam instead. "And I know you want it too."

Sam frowned offended. "What? What gave you that idea? I never said that."

"But you never denied it either. You don't want to live like this, Sammy, and you're cunning enough to see this is the only way out."

"How is this about me suddenly!? You're the one who just yelled '_I was King Caine_'. Twice. And what do you mean 'the only way out'? There's no chance –"

"I've had time enough thinking about it in that cell, and I believe there might be. Remember Esther? She said there will be this war soon, _and_ she saw the FAYZ coming, both improbable events she has predicted so there might be a connection. So I want to ask her and Jurrian more about this tomorrow, what exactly this end of the world will be: if it is anything similar to the FAYZ, there may be a way to get them back. I mean, if the laws of nature are broken once, –"

"_No_, Caine. Just, _no_. We _can't_ wish our powers back. That would be horrible, it would be the FAYZ all over again!"

"Who says it has to be? It are _our_ powers, we can do with them whatever we want. And us having powers was actually one of the good things about the FAYZ, I won't miss starvation or the supernatural diseases. I only want to say, it would be great to have them back, we could break out and demand the respect we're entitled to."

"_We can't be that selfish_!"

Caine looked at him with a kind of smug almost-compassion.

"No Sam. I can. Only you can't. That's the difference between you and me. Or frankly, between you and most people."

Sam said nothing, hoping Caine would just shut up about it. He felt no desire at all to talk about these things.

"Don't get me wrong, I know it's a good thing to care about others. A good thing good people do, like you, only you're being too good for your own good, brother. Be honest to yourself, you're being used. That already happened in the FAYZ, I saw it with my own eyes. From the very beginning, you saved them from anything they didn't dare to face themselves, but instead of giving you their loyalty or solving their own problems for once, they resorted to me the moment you weren't around. Heck, they _wanted_ you gone, as you made them work. And now it isn't any different. No reward, no thank you for ending the FAYZ, saving all their lives. While _you_ did it for _them_, you're the one who came to me with the idea of killing Gaia, and as you know, I only agreed because of Diana. But instead of setting up a statue for saving hundreds of children, they portray you as a monster for the few you killed. Do you think all those kids you fought for, sitting in their homes playing computer games, think a moment about you? They're glad you're gone, out of the picture. They could've pleaded for you, set you free, but they didn't because you were annoying and scary. You're welcome to save the day, but don't expect anything in return. You're being used."

"Says who? You're trying to use me yourself!"

"True." Caine confessed, "Another thing I've spent a lot of thought on past months. I want you in my plan. All this time we were rivals and enemies, but looking back it would have been far better if we'd been allies. So I want to cooperate now. Chances are you'll get back your power anyway when I get mine, and if you're not on my side by then you'll try to stop me, and we all know what that leads to." Deaths. Maybe hundreds, thousands of them now they weren't restricted by an impenetrable bubble. "But apart from that, I think listening and being used by me for a change will make you a lot happier than you are now. If we do this together, I can settle with sharing my power with you. That's how we end up anyway, and you don't even like taking charge. If I'd known that before, I'd loved to take that burden of your shoulders. And if you want to, we can always do more, things for others. If we're free we can help other Perdido survivors, for example. We can get Edilio out of Mexico, or wherever he came from, we can make Brianna the Breeze again, she'd love that, we'll see Diana and Astrid more often of course, and maybe we'll find out what happened to Dekka, Tanner, Orc, whatever _you_ want. We'd be a great team."

Sam felt not disgusted enough by Caine's ideas to be comfortable with. Why did he sound okay, reasonable, even well-intentioned? "I want no more blood, no more guilt. We'll have to hurt and kill people to do those things. I can't go all laser hands on innocent people because I want to help my friends!"

Caine huffed at that statement. "Of course you can! Those ungrateful wimps don't deserve your mercy, Sam. You've fought me, how many times? What for? To be depicted as a psychopath and waste the rest of your life in this shitty excuse of a school!? You owe them NOTHING, Sam! On the contrary, they owe you all the respect and honor they can give! _And you feel guilt_! That's just… _ridiculous_, I _can't _understand you. Don't you have the slightest sense of _self-esteem_!?"

"I have a sense of MORALITY!"

"Then save it for the people who APPRECIATE IT!"

Sam had no reply, so Caine viewed the discussion as concluded. "Sleep on it. Maybe you'll see things more clearly in the morning."

Sam nodded. He got in his nightgown and wished his brother a good night.


	9. Chapter 8: Tugen's theory

Lee Young. 28 years old. Pulling the signal out of the recorder, making up a story about the cameras falling black. A great story that could only be true, but they needed more before they could face the press. Was he involved in the disappearances? What were his motives? How could he make himself and Miss Donte disappear? Why would he make himself disappear, if Miss Donte was the actual victim?

Mary had come up with two possible scenarios, assuming Lee Young was responsible for the problems with the CCTV and subsequently at least partly involved in their disappearances.

It was usually Mary who provided the ideas. Initially, Craig was only a police officer who gave her backup in some earlier cases. That's how they met.

In the early days, Mary was part-time detective, part-time temporary worker. Mystery and intrigue had always attracted her, in films, in novels, in series. She was addicted to it, and to find mysteries in everyday life, to _solve_ them, to _earn money_ with them, was literally a dream coming true. She also turned out to be successful, cases became more and more frequent and serious and she cooperated more and more with the local police. That's when Craig came in her life. Their professional relationship quickly grew to a more romantic level, and before Craig could totally apprehend what was happening they were married and he had given up his career to work with her. And he'd never regretted it.

Mary's first theory, and the most likely one, was that Mister Young turned off the recorder to keep something hidden, something he did himself or something others did, maybe he had been forced, but the point was: Miss Donte would notice the little warning light was on, decided to take a look out of curiosity – Mister Young had said it was nothing, after all –, saw something she shouldn't and had to disappear. Most important question: what needed to be hidden?

In the second one the disappearance had been the aim of the plot. The whole story with the cameras was only to make the 'accidental' black hole during the disappearance more plausible. A lot more farfetched in Craig's eyes, who would start the cover up weeks in advance but letting the night guard disappear, making the connection between the two obvious.

In both theories it was possible Lee Young himself would disappear, as witness: to hinder the police, or as culprit: by default or to escape justice.

Hence, the first thing Mary and Craig had done, was checking Lee Young's past, for anything that could point to something he would want to keep secret, some reason to hate Miss Donte or some acquaintance that had one of these motives.

And that was where a problem showed up. They had interviewed everyone: his colleagues, his friends, his girlfriend, his family, even his former teachers, but no one could give them a clue. Lee Young had been an awfully normal night guard at an anything but normal school.

Theory number three: the faltering of the recordings and the disappearances had no connection at all. They were doomed.

Craig hoped fervently that was not the case.

But anyhow, they needed to learn more about Susan Donte. That was the reason they had arranged an appointment with Grace Tugen, math teacher at Dorothy Hills, and the introvert history teacher's closest friend.

A large woman swirled into the teachers room. Her hair was in a long, greying braid, she wore glasses and a colorful, flowery summer dress for which it was actually still too cold. In her arms she was carrying a load of books, files and paper. She laid it all down on a table, to be sorted later, and looked around. When her eyes fell on the two strangers sitting on the couch near the coffee machine, she walked towards them and extended her hand.

"You must be Mister and Misses Boyle. A pleasure to meet you. I'm Grace Tugen."

After their confirmation Grace settled down in a chair opposite of the couch. She felt weary, she had just finished teaching the second class. She loved the children, she really did, and she did her utmost best to give them confidence and positive energy, so they could weapon themselves against the many threats and traps in the big, big world _and_ in their own minds, – in a child-friendly environment, of course –, but they could be _so_ demanding.

"Miss Moreland has told us you have a close relationship with Miss Donte. For us to find her it's really important that you tell us all you know, truthfully." The forty-somewhat, redheaded woman, Mary Boyle, gave her a warm smile. "We'll do all we can, but we _need_ to know how she was like."

Grace nodded, she understood they tried to be nice, but had to ask about this painful subject. She had no bad words about her friend. "She was a lovable woman."

Something in her words stabbed Mary's heart. Past tense. Did she assume Miss Donte had already died?

"She was great with the children, a tiny bit strict maybe, but what do you expect? She had the most difficult subject at this school, history, I wouldn't dare to stand in her place. That's what we had in common, we cared for the children, and even though she sometimes told them about things I would personally wait a little longer with – nasty things like war, and murder, and genocide – we both sincerely wanted to help them with their future. All of them. I don't want to speak badly of my colleagues, but some don't, you know? Some just teach here because they couldn't get another job, or they have favorites and deem other children lost cases. Susan always aimed to treat everyone equally, and help all of them on the way. _She _actually _could_ have gotten a better job, she truly was an expert in her field, I've always told her: 'Why stay here? You are much too intelligent for this school. With your knowledge, you could easily apply for a job at almost any university in the States!' But she never thought of leaving. She just loved the place. She loved history, but especially the history of the school. The teachers, the students, their problems, their later lives, she found it so…_fascinating_…"

As she talked, her sentences were more and more interrupted with sniffs and sobs until she folded a silk handkerchief out of her pocket.

"Excuse me."

She blew her nose, dried her eyes and pulled herself together.

"I try to suppress all these things, but now I'm talking about it all… I'm so afraid something awful has happened to her. I just can't imagine why anyone would want to hurt her, she was always so polite, so good, so strong…"

"So there isn't any change someone held a grudge against her?"

"Not that I know of."

Theory two: dismissed.

"Actually," Miss Tugen swallowed, "I have thought of a theory myself. It just kept haunting my mind. I might not be a professional, I have no experience with things like this, but please, Miss Boyle, would you please consider it?"

This was surprising. And in fact, Mary was lost for ideas at the moment, so Miss Tugen's theory was more than welcome.

"Of course, it won't hurt to listen."

Grace avoided her eyes and fiddled with the little piece of cloth. "One of the reasons she wanted to stay at Dorothy Hills was that she was doing her own small scale research on the school archives. She once asked me, to come with her. About a month before she disappeared. She said she had found a particularly intriguing file she wanted to show me. It was about a boy, who had predicted disasters. No one believed him at the time, but later, they all proved to be true. One of them was the meteorite strike at Perdido Beach, which ultimately created the FAYZ."

Her theory wasn't that silly after all.

"If this came out, there would be chaos. People would be mad. I think someone wanted to silence her."

"How long had she been researching the school archives?"

Miss Tugen's tears streamed wildly. "She discovered them this year, in the basement. When the computer needed to be replaced. No one ever came there, because no one was ever interested. Except her. It was just all old rubbish to the rest of them... Would you please take a look?"

Mary looked at Craig. Formally, they shouldn't let themselves be distracted by wild conspiracy, but this theory was just too tempting _not_ to take a look at. Besides, she wanted to help the woman.

And Craig wasn't one to let regulations prevent him from helping people in need. He looked at Miss Tugen seriously. "We will. And we will do everything in our might to bring her back safely. I promise."

And when Craig made promise, he would fulfill it, whatever difficulties he might come across. He would search until they knew what happened to Miss Donte. And Mary would be at his side. Craig and Mary Boyle. The famous detective couple. Forever.

Just like in the novels.


	10. Chapter 9: A game of baseball

**Please, forgive me for any inaccuracies in the baseball terms and rules. When I originally wrote this, I had no free Wifi, so I went by the way we usually play baseball-like-sports in PA. I have gotten the English terms later from Wikipedia, but I kept the original positions as they would be with twelve anyway. Furthermore, enjoy the chapter and please review!**

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Eerily early in the following morning, Sam and Caine stood shivering beside each other in the long row at the side of the snow-cleaned sports field. Changing in the boy's room had been awkward, more than half of the guys were still black and blue from yesterday's fight. These kind of things would almost shape a bond.

PA was a compulsory subject for all grades. It was given for all classes in the morning – before breakfast – but the indoor sport hall had only enough space for three classes at the time, thus the other three classes had to sport outside, regardless of the weather. To make sure the time inside was divided equally in cold days like these, every three days the inside and outside classes were swapped around.

In theory, the daily PA-lessons stimulated optimism, good health and team spirit. For once, this was no DH policy nonsense, but a scientifically proven fact acknowledged at schools all over the world.

But as every school, in any nation, in practice Dorothy Hills failed to see _one_ thing: some people just weren't made for sports.

Fortunately, both brothers didn't belong to that group. They weren't as athletic as people like Jurrian and Bastian, who used to train with almost military discipline in the months before they came at DH, but they both weren't totally lost in it either: Sam had always loved to surf, Caine had always loved to win.

The PA teacher, a short, muscled, greying man called Ben Hoogens, walked up and down the row explaining the rules of baseball. When he was finished, he randomly split the group in half and created two teams of twelve: Sam ended up in the batting team, Caine, Marco and Jurrian stood in the field together with Lance.

The fielding team spread out over the grass. Three players in the field, three players on the bases, the remaining four players in between as short stops: most players wouldn't hit far anyway. The pitcher was Jennifer, a sportive, Hispanic girl from Connecticut who had become paranoid after being raped by an old school friend, and Michael, a member of Cathy's Christian sect, was the first hitter.

The game commenced.

Jennifer threw the ball, Michael missed, Petrus catched, let it fall out of his hands, picked it up again and threw it back in Jennifers general direction. Petrus was typically one of the guys who wasn't good at sports. He was fat as a result of barely moving any bodyparts but his thumbs – he had been sent to DH for a game addiction – but had quick reflexes nonetheless. That briefly summed up the reasons the others deemed him as catcher.

"One strike, zero balls." Mister Hoogens yelled out.

Jennifer threw again, this time Michael hit and the ball flew away, past Ihem, the Muslim extremist, past Lance, to Marco and Cathy, who both ran after, but Marco soon gave up seeing Cathy was faster and let her throw it to the second base.

Caine, standing third base, determined to not run after a ball like some meek idiot, was gritting his teeth.

"Irene, just throw it back to Jennifer! He won't go for the second base!"

Actually, he would like to place him far above this game, he had the intention of talking with Jurrian as soon as he got the chance, but he just couldn't help taking charge.

"And Lance, what did you think you were doing! You could have made a catch of that one!"

Lance was clearly not amused to be shouted down by Caine.

"What are talking about!? I could've never gotten that one!"

"Maybe _you_ couldn't, but that's only to blame on your incompetence. Anyone else would have dived so Micheal would have been out." Caine snapped back.

"I don't see you diving!"

"I'm standing third base, you moronic fool. That's not my job."

"Mister Hunswick, pay better attention next time. Mister Temple, don't comment on other's performance, you're not the captain of the team! Miss Sanchez, how long does it take to throw that ball!? Mister Niskachkov is waiting!"

During the game, Caine kept shouting around orders and criticisms, the latter mostly in Lance's direction. Although Sam wouldn't think of telling him off on it, that wasn't fair. Lance did a good job overall, and there were people far worse than him.

First, you had the "hard-working average", like Ihem and Irene. They didn't stand out on skill or strategy, but did what they could.

Behind this group there were the people who were plainly bad, like Petrus and Marco, who let most balls fly by harmlessly, lacking the motivation to do anything with it.

And then, you had Olivia.

Olivia was a London based girl with Jamaican roots and well-educated parents: her mother was a teacher and her father was a lawyer. She had always been of the dreamy kind, but against her parents' initial believes her magical, imaginary friends didn't leave her as she became older, it only got worse and worse.

At the moment, she was supposed to stand in the front with Ihem, but no one thought she was aware of that. Now, she was standing at the fence, chatting with… unicorns? Sam wouldn't know.

Jurrian, though, who was the fourth short stop, made more than up for her. He stood between Caine and Irene, officially, but practically took all balls in the left half of the field. And was having fun. The way he sprinted after every ball, entirely focused on catching it, had something endearing, actually. It reminded Sam most of a playful dog, and just like a playful dog, he often succeeded in catching the ball midair. Don't strike in that direction, he told himself. It was Sam's turn.

He took the bat and observed the field. Natasha stood on the third base, and Olle on the first, although he could have gone to the second a long time ago. Maybe he didn't understand the possibility of stealing a base.

"You can't win anymore, Sammy. You're far too far behind!"

They would see.

He nodded to Jennifer to indicate he was ready. She threw, he stroke, the ball connected and flew high through the middle of the field. Without further looking, he ran and reached the first base.

Marco, for once, was nearing the ball. Time enough to go further, but Olle was still lingering around the next base.

"Olle, go!" He looked at him, bewildered, but this wasn't the time to explain you could take several bases at once so Sam just started running, hoping he would figure it out himself.

He did, and finally proceeded to the third base, but it already was too late. Marco had gotten hold of the ball, hurled it to Caine but it didn't came far enough and Jurrian caught it instead. He whipped around, speeded to Olle and tagged him out forcefully, knocking the frail monster-seer over.

He apologized softly and helped him up, asking if he was okay. Olle give a shy, vague reply and quickly stalked away.

Olle had an unique and extreme form of zoophobia. It compromised all animals that could physically harm him, and sometimes even extended to human beings.

He had told about it yesterday in therapy, after the fight. He had described it as scenes constantly playing in his head, horrifying images of what a creature _could_ do, even though he _knew_ it was not interested in him.

But the worst was when it considered a person. At those times, Olle felt down right guilty for thinking this way. For thinking of the people around him as beasts, as murders! He hated his own phobia, he found it exceptionally unfair regarding the people he had been afraid of. And yet _he_ was the victim.

Sam had felt sorry for the boy. He couldn't help it.

He watched him leaving the field, and it occurred to him Olle might now have a fear of Jurrian, the way he just behaved. It actually made strikingly sense. Sam had to admit his new-found friend may be intimidating to some, despite his carefree friendliness. Jurrian was in many ways a lot like himself, before the FAYZ, except his fanatism. He wondered –

No, he didn't. He didn't want to think about this. It was just like with Quinn, very similar, until disaster stroke, until the FAYZ happened. He didn't want to wonder how Jurrian would have acted, it was useless, Jurrian had never been put through such a situation and would never be, whatever Caine believed, whatever Esther believed, whatever Jurrian believed himself. It was madness.

He decided to stop pondering and focus on the game. It was Ruby's turn, she missed a few times , but that created an opportunity to make a run for the third base. Were Caine was…

"Sam! I've asked Jurrian what Esther predicted, but he said we should ask herself. Hurry with changing clothes after class, and come directly to the canteen at breakfast."

PA before breakfast. Every day. Who came up with this schedule?

Ruby hit, badly, it gave Sam enough time to run home and score a point. When he returned to his teammates, his mind was with the upcoming conversation. Worry gave him an uneasy feeling in his stomach, or it was just hunger, but he was worried nonetheless. Very worried. 'Cause, what if Esther said yes? What would Caine do if there was a way to become powerful again, his old self?

It was a reassuring thought, however, that this chance was very small. Esther would say no, or would have no idea, and this whole, mind-breaking matter turned out to be nothing but wishful thinking from Caine's side. And then they would go on with everyday life. Go on with school, go on with life, let things settle down, turn normal, so he could finally…

Could finally what?

Sam lost his breath for a second. He had never thought about that. He used to be the surfer-boy, _no plans for the future but to take some waves_. He had actually assumed that that would never change, that life would be normal for him, that he would turn out alright.

Could finally what!?

Then the FAYZ happened, and the only plan he had was to get out alive, with as many as possible others to reassure his state of mind. The only thing he'd wanted for himself was to live happy after, normal, with his mother, with his friends, with Astrid. Nothing special. Just to turn back to his old life.

_Could finally what_!?

Last two months, the guards, the experts, the shrinks, the media and yet the isolation. He had endured, he had assumed, but he hadn't thought. Until today, he hadn't thought. He was just waiting, actually, seeing where and when he would come out, when it all would finally be over, so he could finally…

_He could never pick up his old life._

He would _never_ come out, he would _never_ see the sea again, he would _never _return to his mother, his friends, Astrid. He would never go to college, never get a job, never get an own house, never get married, have a family.

He could almost see the documentary, _Souvenirs From Hell: Perdido Survivors Thirty Years After. _One by one, everyone came past.

Quinn Gaither, proudly telling about his fishermen back in the day. Diana Ladris, explaining how it is like to be famous for such a thing. Albert Hillsborough, about how the FAYZ lead to him being the richest man on the planet. John Terrifano, how happy he now was he had survived and met his beloved Abigial, with whom he shared an apartment in Los Angeles. An adorable family shot of Astrid Ellison, Genius of the FAYZ, now Astrid Foster, Nobel Prize winner, bringing her children to school and kissing her husband Jerry goodbye.

It was a good thing he was standing at the sideline. He felt jealous, sick, he knew Astrid wouldn't cheat on him, but she would inevitably meet someone else, and what could he expect her to do? Give up her life for a poor soul stuck in a lunatic house?

_Souvenirs From Hell_, Sam Temple. Sitting in his cell in some godforsaken institution, talking about the past like a senile old man, thrilled to have some distraction from his dull and empty days. How would they call him? Survivor? Leading figure? Tiran? Monster?

The audience would applaud, the filmmakers would win several Emmy's, calling the interviewees on the stage to celebrate the victory together, and he would sit in the same room he was interviewed in, unaware of the film's success, trying to get some sleep while plagued with nightmares.

Was this how Caine felt? Was this what he was trying to make clear last night? Why had he never seen this coming before?

But there was _one_ chance. _One_ faint shimmer of hope, saving him from the deep darkness of despair.

Maybe he could get his powers back. Maybe he could break out.

His whole life depended on what Esther would say.


	11. Chapter 10: Alliances for the future

**So, here is it. Breakfast. Mysteries are unravelled and alliances are made. first I want to thank everyone who has followed, favorited and reviewed my stories so far! You're great, I love reading and seeing them! Thank you! (And keep doing it... :D)**

**In this chapter I have fragments of two languages I don't speak, Italian and German. I've translated them word by word and put them in French/Dutch word order, so they might be messed up (especially the Italian part). If you know one of these languages and see an error or unfitting word, please tell me! **

**Oh, and if you're sensitive to political incorectness, do not put the German sentence in Google translate...**

**Please favorite and follow if you haven't done so yet and review! (Even if you've already done so.) But most important of all: enjoy this chapter!**

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Esther stood at the far end of the bar that stretched along the back of the canteen and formed the connection to the kitchen, pouring breakfast in a bowl. Neutral flavored cornflakes with a minimum of milk, as usual. She didn't like it, but it was much preferred to scrambled eggs – she always felt sick after eating eggs for breakfast –, bread – toasted or untoasted, the only bread they had was that typical, white, hotel bread with that unmistakable strange, sweetish taste she hated so much – or a complete hot meal, which was just too far from what she used to eat at home.

At home, breakfast was small and simple: only two slices of normal, pre-sliced brown bread. But the choice came with what was on it: _jong belegen_ cheese, chocolate spread in several tastes, all kinds of sliced meat, jam, honey, syrup, chocolate sprinkles…

She missed home at breakfast.

But she made up for it with a large cup of hot tea.

When she turned around to walk towards Marilou and some other girls, she nearly bumped into Caine coming her way.

"Esther, please come sit with us, I need to talk to you." He held her eyes with a penetrating, serious look. "It's very important."

She glanced at the table she was actually heading to, not really looking forward to a conversation about important issues. But she couldn't just turn him down, now, could she? Caine made her uneasy. Even though he would surely have had good reasons at the time and it wouldn't be entirely his fault, this man had tens of deaths on his name.

On the other side, in the next few years everyone would, she thought grimly.

She decided to be polite yet straight-forward. Whatever Caine had on his mind, it could wait. "I'm sorry, I was just going to Marilou. Maybe we can talk about it later?"

"You're in class with Marilou, you'll have time enough to chat with her today." She tried to sneak past him unnoticed, but he sidestepped in her way. "Please, Esther, listen to me! We need your help! It's essential!"

"Esther," Jurrian suddenly appeared behind Caine, coming from the crowded aisles, "Come. He wants only to ask some questions about your predictions."

Caine quickly glanced at him, considering whether he should be irritated by this unasked interference, but chose not to care. "Yeah, what can you see exactly about that end of the world?"

Esther frowned skeptically. "Why would you need me for that? Jurrian can tell you."

Now Caine _was_ irritated. "He said we should ask you."

Esther's skeptical frown changed into a smug smile. "He did?"

Jurrian didn't seem particularly bothered by this revelation, and apologized rather cheerfully: "I forget it. Always. It's much better you tell it yourself. I make a mess of it."

Esther shook her head in mock-condemnation. "Je bent ook ongelooflijk, hè? Hoe vaak heb ik het je nou al niet verteld?"

Jurrian laughed open-heartedly. "Té vaak."

"Ik zie het al. De mannen kunnen het weer eens niet alleen af."

"Dus… kom je?"

Esther sighed and rolled her eyes, smile still on her face. "Moet dan maar, hè?"

Esther walked past, to the table where Sam and Marco had just gathered Brianna, and Jurrian followed. No idea how he had just convinced her, Caine joined them without a word.

As they walked down the canteen, her eyes wandered to Marilou, engaged in a conversation with the other girls. Their jokes and gossip were entertaining enough, but Esther wouldn't call any of them her friends. The others were just too bitchy, too mean for her to form a bond with. Marilou was a saint in comparison, and that was her problem. She stubbornly held to her own set of morals, and didn't shy away to voice them, igniting frustration in others. But Esther could have some criticism, and Marilou was at least reliable. That's why their friendship worked.

But she would never, _ever_ choose their friendship above Jurrian. He wasn't a friend, he was far above that stage…

It all began when they moved from Almere to the Vekterlaan in Deventer. She was four. It took only one day to discover that the neighbors across also had a little girl of four, who above all went to the same school. A week later they were best friends.

Femke and Esther went through a lot together. Both an adventurous strike, they would often go out, exploring the neighborhood, inventing games and stories, sometimes involving Jurrian in it, usually against his will. Even after they parted in secondary school – Femke to the Schalkensweerd College to do Athenaeum, Esther to the Hegius Gymnasium – they kept in touch, they lived across the street after all! Kept celebrating New Year's Eve together, kept holding barbecues together during the summer days. Kept having shared long weekends in bungalow parks in the Veluwe. That was only two years ago…

Just like her parents, Femke and her family had always known about her gift to foresee. She had mostly ignored it, she didn't want it to prevent her from enjoying life, but as the end came closer and closer she became more and more anxious. Millions of people would die, fighting over something valuable, something impossible. In that fight, every death would be a murder. Every death a murder.

But there was something else. When she neared the end of the first class, she _knew_, she didn't know how she knew, but she _knew_ something large would be happening in that year November. There was an extraordinarily powerful presence, that would clash with the center and something big would happen, something supernatural. She tried to tell people, her classmates, the police, the government, but no one would listen, except Femke.

That summer, they agreed to do as much as they could to prepare. They searched the internet for information, to figure out more details, to find prove to show the authorities, to find ways they could get media attention. Jurrian knew about it, of course, and tried to help them. It was his idea for them to enroll in kickboxing lessons, so they would be able to defend themselves. But it was only when the FAYZ happened, on the tenth of November, somewhere around Bitterweed Valley at the Californian coast – as she predicted –, that he became serious.

He had never told why – Esther guessed it was because he felt the responsibility of being the older male of the trio –, but he had given everything up for them. He did nothing for fun anymore, barely entered the school, his thriving social life collapsed. He dropped out of the soccer team, took on judo instead, spent his free time training, training, training, worked harder than ever at the bakery shop to earn money for supplies, traveled all over the country to get them.

His friends thought he had gone insane, she'd read it on Facebook. She believed he didn't see many more people but her and Femke.

She knew, his parents had been worried to death. Yet they allowed it, as they believed them and wanted to support them, but they hadn't known about the weapons. Esther remembered when he fondly showed her and his sister the gun, Femke went mad. He had really taken it too far, she said, but he countered she should be glad he had taken the effort, when the time came they would need all they had.

This had led to great arguments in their little group, both siblings could be fiery when angered and were incredibly headstrong, especially when it concerned each other's wellbeing. Femke didn't step out, but refused to come with them on that fateful trip to Germany. And had been right, of course: she wasn't here.

But Jurrian was. In a place where there was no one she could empathize with, no one she knew, no one who _could speak her language_, Jurrian was with her. He was a friendly, good-natured, protective piece of home.

Caine sat down beside his brother and gestured for her to sit opposite of him, beside Marco. She knew Marco a little, he was always in Jurrian's company, plus his roommate, but she doubted they really were friends.

At Sam's other side sat Brianna, who she had recognized from TV. And the end of the therapy session there was often an half hour of watching TV, usually the news, and she remembered seeing her racing along the FAYZ wall. She had taken pride in her powers, and didn't think twice on a chance to show off, which resulted in her holding quite disturbing texts in front of the camera. But who could blame her after a year in the FAYZ?

Esther took the implied chair and Jurrian took the seat at the head of the table, between her and Caine. She was actually grateful for that.

While she took a bite of her cornflakes, Caine formulated his first question.

"Okay, Esther, listen. You've predicted two big things, right? The FAYZ and this warlike sort of situation. Let's call it, the Chaos, okay?" She nodded.

"What I want to know is: what will this Chaos be like? Is it something like the FAYZ?"

She swallowed her food and thought for a moment. "I… I don't know. You see, it's kind of… vague. But there are similarities."

"What exactly _do_ you know?"

"Well…" She lay her spoon down in her bowl. "There is this thing I call the 'sfeer', same word in English, I think, sphere, and these things I call 'spoken', or ghosts, because I don't know what they are. The sphere is actual more a… _begrip_, idea than a real thing I can…_see_, you know?" With the word _see_ she made a halfhearted gesture indicating the parentheses. "It's actually: the sphere creates the ghosts, how stronger the sphere the more ghosts. And these ghosts are the things that make impossible things happen, like the FAYZ."

She did her best to make it easy to apprehend, but it still sounded terribly obscure. "And what has this to do with the Chaos?"

"This valuable thing I told you about, is also a ghost. A valuable ghost. Or valuable ghosts, I should say, there will be several."

"You didn't tell me about a valuable thing?"

"The thing people fight over. I told you that, right?"

"Worth life or death, you said."

"Yes, that thing. That's a ghost. Or ghosts."

Caine was pondering for a moment, trying to make sense of this information while Esther ate.

It wasn't long until Brianna came up with her own suggestion. "Astrid said it was Little Pete who created the FAYZ. Maybe these ghosts are people?"

It was mainly directed at Sam, who went along with this idea. "Yeah. Do you know about the meteor strike in the power plant sixteen years ago?"

Esther nodded and spoke with her hand politely in front of her full mouth. "Yes, that was a year before my birthday. _Exactly_ a year before my birthday. Pretty weird." She gulped her mouthful down. "We found out about it when Femke and I looked for clues on the internet. The meteorcrash buried a lot of nuclear waste under the ground, together with a scientist, and the authorities didn't clean it. I think that's what attracted the sphere, which made it much stronger and created the ghosts. I've always known it was centered there, I could point it on a map, _and_ I've always known human DNA with a lot of energy, like nuclear energy, could do that, so yeah…" She shrugged. "When we found out, it was only logical."

Sam frowned, slightly taken aback. "Okay. Well, Astrid thought the nuclear waste caused the mutations, like mine and Little Pete's. And Little Pete on his turn created the FAYZ, to keep the gaiaphage in."

Esther gasped, almost choked on her cornflakes, and her face lit up. "That's it!"

Caine tried to understand her abrupt change in expression and share her epiphany, but failed. "What do you mean? Is Astrid right?"

"No, no, no." She shook her head rapidly. "Nuclear radiation is physically explainable. And it creates cancer, not powers. But I want to know, is this Little Pete a freak?"

"Yes?" Sam replied.

"A powerful freak?"

"Yes, extremely powerful."

"And retarded." Sam glared at Caine.

"But that only makes more sense! How old was he?"

Caine opened his mouth to answer, but then realized he wasn't sure. He looked at Sam.

"Four at the beginning of the FAYZ."

"Four…" She made a quick sum in her head and counted something on her fingers. "Yes. And…" Her eyes moved from Sam to Caine, and back. "Did you both discover your power… after march the twenty-sixth?"

Yes, Sam did. In April. This was kind of scary. If it had come from anyone else, he would have deemed it a lucky guess, but she was so _confident_ about this…

"Those… _ghosts_, as I called them, are your powers!"

Jurrian looked at her, obliviously shaken by the news and utterly serious. When he spoke, his voice was hardly more than a whisper: "So the powers will cause the war… How?"

"And the ghosts are created by the sphere, and the sphere centers around DNA with much energy. Voila!" Caine exclaimed excitedly. He leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two back most legs, as an overjoyed grin took over his features. "We can do this, Sammy! You've heard her, it's possible!"

"Caine." Sam nodded to Jurrian, who was giving him a piercing glare, teeth clenched in annoyance.

Caine fell back on all four legs. "I disrupted you?"

"Yes, you did."

"Jurrian," Jurrian swiftly turned back to Esther, anxious for her answer. "Yes. Certain powers will be extremely valuable, and others, the little ones, will change the way we look at things."

Esther had told him about this before. Except the very powerful ghosts, or powers, as they turned out to be, there were thousands of little ones created by the sphere. Too small to be noticeable, but big enough to have an effect. If these truly were powers, that would mean that anyone who came anywhere near the gaiaphage, would have developed a little power.

"Sam," He was not in the mood to talk with Caine now. "Was there a power everyone had? Something small."

A common power? Not that Sam knew of. "No."

"Maybe…" Esther began. "Uhm… Maybe… Wait a minute, there was radiation leaking, right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Where there many cases of cancer in Perdido Beach?"

"No." That indeed was peculiar. "Actually, most people were very healthy. Now I think of it, I've never seen an old person walking with a stick. I assumed there were just few old people. You think this was because of this small power?"

"Yes."

"Maybe it was like Lana, then. She came from Las Vegas, her grandfather was driving her through the FAYZ when he disappeared and the truck crashed. She healed herself, and others…"

"Yes, yes, Sam. You're right. This little power _is_ a healing power. Not much, but easily provoked, and enough to… Stay. Alive. Forever."

Last step in evolution. End of the world. Human immortality. Of course, every death a murder, because natural death ceases to exist. Change the way we look at things. And apparently, Lana got her power merely hours after arriving in the area. Which meant, she was...

Esther sat still, expressionless, while all pieces fell into place. "Yes. The 'ghosts' are powers. When the sphere gets stronger, in a few months, these powers, which first only existed around the FAYZ, will show up across the globe. Not all, but the… _easiest_ ones: here and there a Lana, and everyone the power of internal life. Everyone. The rich will get the Lana's, get the food, live forever, but the poor will wish the same, feel unjustified and everyone will be fighting for himself. Chaos. War. In which people die because they need to be killed and every Lana can mean the difference between life and death."

"Is that a prediction or are you speculating wildly?" Caine asked with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

"That's a combination of common sense and very good guesswork." Esther responded, her sarcasm-level matching Caine's.

"Een prediction dus." Jurrian finished with a dreary smirk.

He took her hand. "Well. We know now what's waiting for us."

Esther wasn't sure that was entirely correct in English, but knew what he meant. They had finally certainty.

Caine arose.

"Esther, Jurrian, Sam, Brianna… Marco," Shit. Oh, well. Caine hadn't intended to involve Marco – what good would he be? – but now he had heard everything, he would better keep him in. "I want to make a deal. I'm planning to get my… our powers back, and I'll need your help for that. I've already discussed this with Sam, who was reluctant, but…" He looked at him.

"I'm in." Sam said resolutely. He would _not_ let his life be taken away for doing his best in the FAYZ. He would _not_ be used anymore.

"I… can get my power back?" Brianna sounded like a starving beggar offered a home, full hope and disbelief.

"If you promise to stick with us and help us breaking out, you will get yours when I and Sam get ours."

"I… I will." She had never felt so strong since the FAYZ ended. She could be her old self again. This was a dream coming true.

"Esther? Your predictions will be crucial to accomplish this. Without you we'll get nowhere."

She looked to Jurrian for guidance. "Ik ben vóór." he said, "We kunnen hun krachten goed gebruiken."

She nodded earnestly. "We'll do it, if you stay on our side when the Chaos breaks out."

Caine laughed, completely back in his role of wise, charming leader. "You're the one who knows what we're up to, Madame. I wouldn't dare to turn my back upon you."

She smirked. "Good."

"Marco?"

Marco was tense, unsure, what had he gotten himself into? "I… I don't know!" He looked at his parents, who were standing behind Jurrian. They were greyish, opaque, like smoke. They were watching him, pitying eyes, wanted to embrace him, but couldn't reach him. He was too far, the fire was too hot. "I don't want to betray you, but I… I cannot…" His mother stretched her arms to him, said something, but he couldn't hear her through the other voices, voices in the fire, telling him what to do.

"It's okay, Marco. We won't force you to do things you don't want. Just don't tell anyone." Esther smiled to him. She had forgiven him.

"_Condardo!_ _Anche questa ragazza ha ancora coraggio di tu!_"

"_Taci! __Lui ha fatto lo bene!_"

Marco wasn't so sure he was doing the right thing, but he was out of a difficult situation, and that was all that mattered.

"I won't tell. I promise."

The school bell shrilled through the halls. Esther quickly finished the last rests of her breakfast and drank her tea, just like everyone else. When they stood up, the canteen was almost empty.

Brianna cursed under her breath.

"What is it?" Sam asked, but Esther had already found what had gotten Brianna's attention. At the right corner of the canteen, in the hallway to the dorms and classroom six and seven, stood a large group of guys – mostly guys, one girl – staring at them. She recognized Zil, and Antione, and Dennis, oddly enough.

"So that's the Human Crew?"

"Most of them." Sam answered. Aside from the original gang, Chris was there, positively, but also Bastian, Felix and three others Sam didn't know.

"Guys, does anyone have to go that way?" Brianna sounded nervous. Esther recalled seeing her be bothered by those boys, but she had never suspected anything of it. Guilt rose in her stomach.

Jurrian viewed his friends. "I don't think so. Esther, you have history, right?"

"Yes, but we can walk with you, of course. Do you need to be in six or seven?"

Jurrian frowned, but got the message after a warning glare. Caine rolled his eyes.

"Seven."

Brianna was ashamed she had to ask this, but she felt just vulnerable without her power. And hated it. Hated to be weak, slow, needing to be saved. Hated to be afraid of something as petty as a bully. But she was. While she was an independent girl, for god's sake!

Together, they managed to get past without too much complications.

Soon, this would be over. Soon, she would be the Breeze again. She felt a vengeful delight throbbing in her heart.

They stopped at the door. Other seventh graders observed them closely.

Sam smiled to her. "We'll see you in the break. Keep strong."

She couldn't suppress a grin. "I'll do that."

The group turned around again, to their own classes.

"Ihr müβt nicht so stolz sein, euere Art ist nimmer etwas mehr gewesen als heimtükisch Ungeziefer!"

"Also a good morning."

Felix seemed insulted by Sam's response for some reason.

Now Brianna laughed out loud. Things were looking up for her. She had friends. An old one, some knew ones, perhaps one that she had never expected to be. Things were definitely looking up. And soon, she would be free.


	12. Chapter 11: History

Mary and Craig were searching the student section of the school archives, opening the first page of each file to take a look at the "Reason of admission". It was a shame Miss Tugen hadn't been told the name of this boy: Miss Donte had kept the archives neatly organized and everything was in alphabetical order, but without name, they just had to check all of them. _Thousands_ of them.

Despite the help of the staff – as there were only six classes in DH, most teachers had a lot of free time – they had been searching till far past midnight the previous day, and no results so far. After a long, tedious evening in the dusty, dim basement, Craig had fallen down his bed right away to sleep straight to the next morning, too sullen to remember the pint Mary had promised him. But this was barely an hour, before they had breakfast and proceeded their dull work.

All in all, it wasn't surprising everyone was a bit cranky that morning.

"Might this be what we're looking for." Mister McCracken, the old fragile but vigorous physics teacher said it as a statement, not a question. "Matt Levens. 1978. Reason of admission: Delusional ability to foresee the future."

All fatigue and moodiness was forgotten at once when Mary briskly looked up from her drawer and paced to Mister McCracken. "Can I have a look, please?"

She received the folder, opened the first page, and began reading. Her eyes shot from the left to the right as she processed the information, rule after rule, widening in astonishment with every word. This _indeed_ might be what they were looking for:

_Surname: Levens_

_Given name: Matt_

_Year of admission: 1978_

_Reason of admission: Delusional ability to foresee the future_

_Previous place of residency: Whitefield, Coos, New Hampshire, United States of America_

_Incoming grade: 8__th_

_Graduated: Yes_

_Year of graduation: 1983_

_Symptoms:_

_Is convinced he can predict the future, main predictions include: the eruption of Mount St. Helens in 1980, recovery of the economy and fall of communism in the next decade, large meteorite strike at Californian Coast in December 1994, an extraordinarily grave earthquake and tsunami in the Indian Ocean in the winter of 2004/2005 and the Apocalypse before 2015. Further believes: Strong energy with intelligent DNA will cause supernatural things to happen, therefore obsessed with nuclear power. _

She paged through the psychologist notes after reading the hard facts, and found there hundreds of predictions, which all of them were, as far as she knew, true. It was unnerving, but most of all an incredibly sad story. This boy had been depicted as a madman, but he was right, right, all this time. It was _so_ unjust. Apparently Mary wasn't the only one to think that:

_This only confirms me in my belief we should listen to our students better. It is downright scandalous this school let this happen!_

Mary showed the small note – scribbled down in the same red ink as the many underlinings in the piece – to Miss Tugen, who had been searching here every spare minute she had but still had managed to get no further than her first drawer. "Miss Tugen, is this Susan Donte's handwriting?"

She nodded quavery.

"Yeah, that's Susan, that's her. Neat, but not too official." She took a moment to read the piece. "She really cared for that poor sheep. Such a sweet woman." Grace looked up to Mary. "Are you going to look for this man?"

"I think we will." She replied as she handed the folder over to Craig, who began paging through it, looking for useful information.

"So we're going to find him, you say. He should be still alive… Ah, here."

Craig stood still to extensively read one of the last pages.

"What's it?"

He seemed as if he suddenly realized his wife was still there. "Oh, uh." He laughed shortly. "It says here he has gone to Melbourne College after his graduation. This must come in handy when we're going to look for Matt, I suggest we call them first, but…oh… We're not going to find a Matt Levens there."

Mary's face was blank. "What do you mean?"

He walked towards them. "He has changed his name after Dorothy Hills. Matt Levens is called Taegan Smith now."

"Unusual name." was Mary's brilliant response. "Come, let's go to the teacher's room and have lunch, then we'll look for this…_Taegan Smith_."

Craig smiled. "Great idea. I've been in this crypt for far too long already!"

* * *

**So Taegan Smith is an alias of Matt Levens, _and_ has been at DH. Oooo, there are so many things behind this, but I can't tell them all, you have to find them out yourselves! Next chapter may come a bit later, school has started, final year, but contains Caine's/Esther's plan in execution! Yay! Until then, follow and favorite, read and review! Thanks!**


	13. Chapter 12: Just a little tube

**Here is the complete chapter, as promised. Enjoy!**

* * *

"Have you brought the DNA with you?"

"Yes, it's in my…" What was the English word for _zak_ again? Oh well, Caine had lost his attention for him anyway, busy groping in his pillow case for the wires they had stolen from the physics room. 'Yes' had been enough of an answer.

Jurrian got the little tube out of his pocket and sat down on Sam's bed, folding his left hand over his right fist, holding the precious object. They had waited more than a month for the perfect chance to obtain the DNA, and it was a biology project that finally created that chance. They had to carry out an experiment in groups from three to five, following the instructions of one of the five booklets. One option was an experiment in which they had to look into their own genotype, to find out if they were positive or negative for a certain hormone.

Normally, Jurrian would find these kinds of experiments exceptionally uninteresting, but now his life might depend on it, he didn't skip a word in the text.

He truly outdid himself, his old teacher would be proud, but then, the next lesson when Esther's DNA had multiplied and clotted together in a semi-transparent lump, – Esther felt it would work better when they used _her _DNA, so with a genius scheme of Caine they managed to get her in their class long enough to replace Jurrian's buccal cells with hers –, he let the tiny tube slide into his pocket, used one filled with tab water for his experiment and received an F for his test. Not that he cared.

"Here." Caine jumped down the ladder, the thin, blue coated, copper wires in his hand. He handed them over to Jurrian. "I presume you'll have no problem executing our plan, it isn't that complicated. Unless you can't bear the pressure, of course, in that case I would rather do it myself."

Sam shot his brother a condemning glare, hating the way his choice of words practically forced Jurrian to agree. It was a hazardous job: none of them really knew anything about electricity, or knew _what they were doing_, but all of them knew a 110 Volt was fatal. Sam would've never considered _asking_ anyone to do such a thing, leave alone manipulating him into it. But Caine was a different person entirely, and shrugged off Sam's moral judgment.

"Guy, I don't know half what you're saying. If you want to do it yourself, you can say it, otherwise don't… talk about it. I know that isn't right in English, but you know what I mean."

When he rose from the bed, Brianna felt the matrass going up a little. Caine went out of his way, but couldn't stop a clever remark. "No, I _don't_ know what you mean."

"Bemoei je d'r niet mee!" He snapped, not in an angry but in a more irritated and dismissive tone, like he was pointing out the obvious to an annoying child he wanted to get rid of.

"He wants you to leave him alone while he's working with the DNA because he needs to concentrate."

Jurrian kneeled down near the wall socket and began fumbling the ends of two wires into the tube. "Yes, thank you, Esther." He tried to get the wires as far from each other as possible in the limited space, so the current would go through the DNA. "Caine, you're a great guy and I wish you only the best, but sometimes," He pushed the cap back into the tube as well as he could. "you are so_ incredibly irritating_. Really! I think sometimes: just say what you want or just _shut up_ if you have nothing interesting to say. Esther, heb je plakband voor me?"

Esther gave him a role of tape. He wrapped it carefully around the uncovered bits of metal to keep everything in place and to prevent electrocution. "I just can't understand all your smart jokes when I'm stressed, like now, you understand?"

Caine had had enough of this offensive rant. "Are you done?"

"Nearly, I want to be sure that I don't touch the wires. Uhh, the metal, I mean."

That was not what Caine asked for. He didn't say so however: not long after meeting Jurrian, Caine had learnt not to reply to his criticisms, since Jurrian didn't want him to insult him, he only tried express his honest opinion, and if Caine had any remarks on that he should take a good look in the mirror and then he would see Jurrian was right, were Jurrian's words.

But Caine didn't mind, because he knew behind the maliceless mockery the boy had respect for him, and, above all, he regardlessly followed his lead. He watched him carefully shoving the wires in the sockets, slowly, trying to hold his nerves, not to think about the fact he needed to make only one little mistake and his days were over. He wasn't afraid, he trusted himself, but Caine could clearly see his tension. He did it for him. Not to get powers himself, to give _him _his powers, because he trusted his leadership. True loyalty. _That_ was what counted.

Brianna had to keep herself in check forcefully not to cheer in excitement. She almost couldn't believe these people were doing this for _her_, the only possible explanation her mind could come up with was that her friends were the sweetest persons on earth. Which they were. Again she wanted to hug Jurrian in joy and gratitude, but that would distract and kill him, or more likely, annoy him endlessly. So instead she turned to Esther, who was observing the progress of her tall, blond friend closely.

"Is it working yet?"

"Yes…" Esther fell silent for a moment, holding her breath, "Yes! It's – JURRIAN, LAAT LOS!"

"Jesus!" He half fell half jumped back from the socket, wildly withdrawing his hands, and with that the wires. His movements surprisingly agile, he didn't land on his butt, but ended up standing upright instead, the tube safely in front of his chest and a startled expression on his face. Then he relaxed, and became, indeed, endlessly annoyed.

"Godverdomme, Esther. Wil je _alsjeblieft_ niet zomaar gaan gillen als ik bezig ben!?"

His voice was still a little quivery from the fright, but the rest was as steady and fierce as it could get. He said more, of which Brianna could only decipher another "godverdomme" and the word "Volt", and Esther retorted with her own share of gibberish while gesturing excessively to the tube, as if making some crucial statement.

Whatever she said, she seemed to get through as Jurrian's greyish-blue-golden eyes widened even more and his hands threw the tube far away in a spastic reflex. He stared at it, casted a frightened glance at his own hands and returned to the tube again, until his eyes wandered away to find Sam's.

"Uhm, Sam? Or someone else…" He nervously glanced up, to Sam, and down, to his hands, proceeding his sentence slowly. "How… did you… discover your powers?"

Esther sighed loudly, preforming a half eye roll. "_None-powers-need-to-work-the-same-so-how-can-they- ever-help-you-if-I-CAN'T_! Jur, powers are individual! And your situation is so different, it took months for them to get them and you not even a second… It's wrong, it's too big, too… too… allesomvattend…"Their eyes met each other, both worried.

No, to say she was worried was an understatement. During the many conversations she'd had with the Perdido survivors they had discovered that the reason she couldn't see one's powers clearly, was that she couldn't predict individuals.

Her talent was usually very effective. Earthquakes, tsunamis, volcanos, no problem. The birthrate of the white rhino next year in Botswana? She had pretty good guess. Will the regime in China hold? No, unless the authorities come up with a truly ingenious plan. The average lifespan of the world population in ten years? About 37, unfortunately. But when anyone would ask something personal, something individual, about their body or their life, even something as plain as: "Will the baby in my belly be a boy or a girl?", she couldn't give an answer. She didn't know.

That was why she couldn't say who would develop what powers. That was why she didn't foresee Jurrian getting one. But the very millisecond the wires connected, the moment the DNA pulled the sphere together in a rapidly growing, invisible whirlpool of supernatural energy, she knew _one_ power was going too fast. And there was _one_ person physically touching the source. Of course, she should have seen _that_ coming.

It had happened two times before. 'Normal' powers, in 'normal' circumstances took months – if not years – to develop before they could have any effect. She could pinpoint the day Sam and Caine's powers reached that stage, even though she didn't even know them yet. The healing powers, Lana's power and the power of eternal life, formed the major exception, because they were so easily created.

Two times during the FAYZ, however, a normal power had developed in mere minutes. She didn't know the exact reasons, – individual factors – but two times someone's barely present genetic aptitude got exploited and they developed a power simply too big for themselves. In those days she hadn't understood what was happening, of course, only later she had heard the stories:

One was about a boy ripped apart by coyotes on the dry desert grounds of Bitter Weed Valley. He would have died a certain death, if he had not grown an impenetrable armor of stone, if he hadn't changed into a monster. Later, Orc had been killed by the Gaiaphage, as Brianna had told her, but saved his creepy little friend in the act. Howard should be still alive, somewhere.

The second 'victim' had developed his power in a similar way as Jurrian: he hadn't even had any real potential, but got his arm healed much too close to the center of the sphere: the Gaiaphage. The result was an abhorrent mutation, a pinkish snake of flesh where should have been an elbow, it's only purpose to whip one's opponent to death. Its owner wasn't either too appealing, she was told. When the anomaly had ended it hadn't disappeared like all other powers, on the contrary, while Brianna lay helplessly on the ground Drake still possessed his whip, had been determined to use it, to end her, finally take revenge. But Edillio had shot him before he could do any more harm. The incoming military had seen this, arrested Edillio and dragged him away in front of Brianna's eyes, to be sentenced in Honduran court. His crime: murder.

Now there was a third one. A third overgrown power. And this time it was housed in the dearest person of her life. If only she knew what it was…

"Wait a moment." Caine intervened, "Something went wrong? _Jurrian_ has developed powers!? _Big_ powers, as in a _four-bar_!?"

"No," she replied coldly. She took his self-centeredness as ignorance however. "Big powers as in: larger than they should be. They, or it, has changed him, on the inside or the outside, and _will_ change him even more." She glanced at him. Jurrian was still mesmerized by his hands, his fingers bent in open fists. His fearful eyes were larger than ever before and his breath went high and fast.

Caine couldn't evoke any sincere interest in Jurrian, though. Not when his telekinesis might be back. "And what about _our_ powers?"

"Yes, you have them back." She answered curtly. "It's still weaker than before, but will grow stronger if we continue this the coming weeks."

It was back! His power… Thrilled was the only word to describe how Sam felt. He longed to try it again, to find out how much he could do, to show it to all those creeps he had grown such a hatred for. Zil, Lance, Bastian, Felix, Turk, that you-are-insane-and-I've-finished-university-so-don 't-ever-think-you're-a-match-to-me Mister Collins. He could almost see their faces, see their shock, their sweet realization that he could… Sam felt instantly bad for thinking that way, still he couldn't help fantasizing. Or "Think happy thoughts", as the policy would say…

"Oh, Sammy…" He looked up to his brother, who had his arms stretched out already, directed to Sam. He was grinning in a way that could only be described as evilly when an invisible force tugged Sam in the air.

"Caine, what are you doing!?" Brianna cried out. He still was an arrogant jerk, but Brianna had honestly thought he had changed, that he was on their side now. She had trusted him. Had that all been an act? "Let Sam go, you can't handle us both at the same time!"

Jurrian's head snapped up at Brianna's loud exclamation and gaped at the sight. It was like his brain couldn't really process what was going on, though, like it didn't really get through to him.

"Of course I can!" Caine responded cheerfully, and moved one hand to hold Brianna. He noticed this was too much of a strain, however, and let her reluctantly fall back on the bed. Still too weak. "But why would I need to anyway? We are on the same side!"

"On the same side!? You're threatening Sam!"

Caine rose his eyebrows. "Sam, do you feel threatened?"

"I haven't really decided on that yet. I think so."

Caine sighed, but didn't let Sam down. "Come on! Can't I have my fun? We finally have our powers back! We should be celebrating this, Sam, Brianna. Don't you know what this means! Together, we'll be unstoppable!"

Still staring motionless, Jurrian's panicking mind slowly came down to coherent thoughts. No. This was wrong. No, no, no, no, no! Caine was shouting, Sam was floating – why was Sam floating? –, anyone could hear him, decide to take a look, see Sam floating – holy shit, Sam was floating! –, start screaming, alarm the security, the police, the army, they would come for them, for _him_, arrest him, hunt him, shoot him…

Before he could entirely comprehend what he was doing, Jurrian had jumped on Caine and thrown him on the floor. Sitting on his chest, clasping his hand against Caine's mouth to silence him, he heard a loud thud behind him followed by the sound of females fussing over Sam. Beneath his hand, Caine was fuming. He felt him struggling to get his hands free, but Jurrian's grip was immovable.

"Jurrian, Caine wasn't attacking me. You can get off him now."

It was like Sam's calm words broke a spell in his head. Frankly, Sam was wrong, it had never come to Jurrian's mind Caine was trying to hurt Sam. What _was_ he thinking, actually?

That moment it felt like a bull bumped into his chest and hurled him upwards. Caine cursed his own weakness, it was by far not as high as it would have been in the old days, but he still managed to roll away before Jurrian fell back. He landed on hands and toes, just in time to prevent smacking face forward on the linoleum. He tasted blood.

"You stupid imbecile! What did I deserve that for!?"

He scrambled upright while subconsciously checking his tongue. Apparently, he had bitten it.

"I'm sorry, Caine. I don't know…"

"You're sorry? You're sorry!? You'd better be sorry! You're lucky I'm still this pathetically weak, or you'd have gone through _that_ window," Caine pointed at the window, "and lay there, crying on the ice cold sporting fields, bones shattered, the bars sticking out of your guts, I do have to admit you have them, though. I have never before been _jumped on_, like some…"

"Like a beast." Jurrian moaned, looking at his own hands again.

"I was about to say 'freaked-out professional wrestler', but 'beast' pretty much captures the idea…" Caine's eyes then fell on Jurrian's hands. There was something off with his nails. They were narrower and thicker, so that they were rather shaped vertically like those of a cat or a dog.

Just above those bizarre tools, there were blue eyes staring hard at him. "You see them? Funny, huh? They're claws. I know. I have claws." He heaved a faltering sigh, swayed to the bed, lent heavily against the wooden balustrade and slowly slumped down. His masculinity forbade sobbing or whining, even though tears drew wet lines from his eyes to his jaw. "_I have freaking claws_!"

"Jurrian, calm down!" Brianna hissed, "I know it's hard for you, but people can hear you, and you don't want them to hear you, right?"

"Yes." he croaked, and he dropped himself on the mattress.

"Jurrian, we'll _find_ something for you. Don't worry. We'll find something to hide them."

"Don't worry." he grumbled against the sheet, "Sam, do you hear what you say? Don't worry, we will hide them. How long do you want to hide them!? Forever!? My life has ended, Sam. I can never go back, I'm a monster! I have claws, I jumped on your brother without thinking about it, I… I bit on my tongue! What are they going to think!? They will be shocked, they will be afraid, hate me, and for a good reason: I… I am not…" he searched for the right word, "…human…"

"Dude, now you're talking nonsense, of course you're human!" Sam exclaimed, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, don't be stupid. You are just a human with a power, like me."

"It's different."

"No, Jurrian." sounded the reassuring voice of Esther, "Sam is right. It's only a power. It doesn't make you any less human than him or Brianna or Caine."

"Huh. Moet jij zeggen. Als er iemand is die weet dat dat niet waar is ben jij het wel."

It was quiet for a moment: Esther didn't know how to respond to that, and the others didn't know what to respond to.

"I don't know what you said," Brianna began, "but from personal experience I know that a little mutation, like claws, doesn't make you a beast. We've had Orc, I think you've heard of him, but –"

Jurrian nodded. "Yes, Sam has told me. But it's more than claws, I think, what just happened…ik…" He sighed and closed his eyes. "It doesn't matter! It's not about that! I don't have some ee-dentity crises or something, alright!? My problem is, when I come back, to the Netherlands, I will be… beastlike. What will my parents say? And my friends, Michelle… How will I get my life back after this!?"

Esther frowned, Michelle was his ex-girlfriend, but they had broken up more than a year ago for the exact same reason as why he – and Esther herself – where here.

"You had expected to get Michelle back? You spent months preparing for the world to end, that's why she dumped you –" "She didn't dump me, we thought both it was better!" "_And that's exactly why_! It will never be like how it was before, and you knew this, you'd given everything up for this. Did you think you would ever return to school, and get a diploma? Jur, I don't want to disappoint you, but the future hasn't changed. And it won't."

Jurrian knew, Esther was right. Ever since the FAYZ began, he had never counted on having a normal life, even though until then he had. In fact, he ruined it himself, solely because of his absolute trust in Esther, solely because he knew there was no use maintaining it. So why value it now? "I'm sorry. I was being a moron. I was freaking out."

"Well, finally you're making sense." Caine scoffed. Jurrian glared at him, but held back. Caine had a very good reason to be cross with him.

"Alright," Sam said, "we need to agree on some things. I suppose we can best keep everything secret until we've some plan –"

"I've got an idea!" Brianna beamed. "We'll make Jurrian gothic!"

That got everyone speechless. Or almost everyone:

"Oh, yes, that fits perfectly with the depressed monster theme."

"Caine, I'm serious. To hide his claws. We'll write Jurrian's friends a letter, in which we say he's decided to become gothic and we'll ask them to send us appropriate clothes, like black gloves! It's genius, it will work!"

Every Sunday afternoon the 'MIPs' could send and receive mail from home. Although everyone knew the letters and presents were read and supervised by the school staff, few shied away from writing down their most intimate thoughts. Sam and Caine, for example, had made a habit of writing a letter every other week, the weeks in-between it was their beloveds' turn. There were restrictions on what they could and couldn't tell – Sam once tried to write Astrid about Esther and her theory on the FAYZ, but that piece of information had been refused as "_propagandizing fallacious ideologies_"–, but objects like clothes and food – like pastry, Jurrian got lots and lots of delicious Dutch pastry from the bakery shop he used to work – were regularly allowed. Brianna's plan was very possible.

"Brianna, they would never believe that. Why for god's sake would I become gothic?"

"Lemme think…" She theatrically laid her finger against her lips, secretly enjoying herself. "Oh, I know! You lost a bet!"

"A bed?" Esther translated, but Brianna didn't even notice his misunderstanding.

"Yes, a bet! You got into an argument with Felix about which country is better, and dared him into a bet. If he lost, he would from then on dress like a hippy, they hate hippies, and if you lost, you would be a gothic! Of course, now you have lost, you have to stick to your bet, or you would be a unreliable wimp."

Esther nodded approvingly. "That's indeed a very good idea, Brianna."

"Esther, kom nou…"

"Actually, we shouldn't just write them you did this bet, but do it for real." Caine added slyly, "Then you would also have a good explanation for the teachers and the class. Unless you _want _them to ask questions…"

"Yes, tomorrow you guys have history, right? Do it then, bet on some historical fact about Germany and the Netherlands – about the World War Two, that would work – something you know isn't true!"

"Guys, I'm really not going to do this!"

"I'm afraid you're in the minority, Jur." Sam joked.

"Okay, okay, I'll do it!" he gave in grudgingly.

"But what will we do after that?"

Everyone looked expectantly at the two twins. It was Caine who took the word: "When we use our powers, word will spread. When word spreads, there will be consequences. The government will do anything to stop us. We need some sort of protection before we announce our return, or we'll have to deal with the US army. We don't want that."

Elaborating his plans, Caine looked at his accomplices one by one. No, not his accomplices, not this time. These people weren't merely his cowering, brainless cronies, like Panda, Bug, Drake and Penny had been – those backstabbing bastards. These people were his friends. "In this case, we have the advantage of Dorothy Hills being already secluded and self-sufficient, it could work as a stronghold if we find a way to reinforce it. In fact, to make it work, we only need some shield they can't get through. And seeing we managed to get our powers back…"

His eyes stopped at those of his brother. Former rival, foe, a permanent obstacle in his way to reign. But why? Their animosity had led to nothing but trouble, that eternal struggle to lead. Working along, against Gaia, they had been so much stronger. And besides, what was the glory in fighting your own family?

Sam saw Caine staring at him, and knew what he would say. Though, he didn't resent him for it, there simply was no other option. They just needed a shield, a shield the army couldn't destroy.

"We need to recreate the FAYZ-wall."


End file.
